Another Prisoner, Another Professor
by Marauder
Summary: AU. In Harry's third year he must learn the many truths about the new DADA teacher, Professor Black, and an escaped convict, Remus Lupin. Eventual SBxRL.
1. Chapter One

**Author's Note: This story rewrites the parts of PoA that deal with Sirius and/or Remus; the rest of the book has been left untouched, and the fic is to read as a series of vignettes. I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update this.**

_Having left the Dursleys, Harry is on the Knight Bus heading for The Leaky Cauldron._

On the front of Stan's paper was a moving photograph of a man who looked familiar somehow. He had a very gaunt face and there were large scratches all across his face.

"Who is that man?" Harry asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Stan lowered the paper and stared at him. "Who is that? D'you hear that, Ern, he wants to know who is that's on the front page of the _Daily Prophet._ Who's that? That's Remus Lupin, Neville, where you been?"

Ern shuddered and turned a sharp corner. Harry braced himself against the wall.

"Er," he said when the Knight Bus had returned to its usual breakneck speed, "sorry, but – what did he do?"

"He escaped from Azkaban, that's what 'ee did," Stan replied, chewing on his lip in a distracted sort of way. "First person to ever do it, and no one's figured out how."

"He was on the Muggle news," said Harry, suddenly remembering where he had seen the man's face before.

"Well, of course 'ee was," said Stan with a touch of disdain. "I mean, there's some wizards who aren't fond of Muggles and all, but almost nobody's so cruel as to not give them some sorta warning when there's a werewolf loose."

Harry stared. "A _werewolf?_"

"That's right, Neville, a right proper werewolf, what with the fur and fangs and hunger for blood and all." Stan looked as though he were enjoying himself. "Course no one's told that to the Muggles, breaks secrecy and everything, but the Ministry's told 'em that there's a murderer escaped."

Harry looked at the picture of Remus Lupin again. The scratch marks on Lupin's face were four in number and evenly spaced, as if they had been inflicted by a wolf's paw. One of the scratches had nearly cut into his eye. Another had torn his lips. Lupin leaned slightly forward and blinked; his posture made him look rather timid.

"Is that why he went to Azkaban in the first place, because he's a werewolf?"

"Naw. Can't do that unless they've killed or hurt someone. Naw, Lupin ended up in Azkaban for killing thirteen people all in one go. And that wasn't during the full moon, either, that was in broad daylight while he was a man. Bloke like that, if he could kill thirteen people just walking around like you and me, it makes you shudder to think of what 'ee could do as a wolf."

"Stop it, Stan," said Ern. "You're scaring me, and I'm trying to drive and all."

"Sorry, Ern." Stan lifted his paper again and continued to read. Harry eyed him cautiously, trying to think of the best way to go about asking another question.

"Lupin was a big follower of You-Know-Who," Stan said, not looking up from his paper. "And why wouldn't he be? Dark Creature and all. They say he was so powerful that he was the only one You-Know-Who let join him who wasn't a pureblood wizard. Came as a shock to some people, though, finding out Lupin was with You-Know-Who. Lupin owed Dumbledore a big favor. When Lupin was a kid just startin' Hogwarts, Dumbledore let him in even though he knew that there'd be trouble if other people found out their kid was having class and eating dinner with a Dark Creature."

"Wouldn't want my boy goin' to school with one," said Ern, coming to a screeching halt at a traffic light.

"So Dumbledore hid it somehow?" Harry asked.

"Must've. Don't know how he did it, this was before my time. Bet he regrets it now, eh?" Stan chuckled ominously. "Oy, Ern, we nearly there yet?"


	2. Chapter Two

_At The Leaky Cauldron, Harry overhears Ron's parents talking about Remus Lupin._

"Molly, Lupin is supposed to have gone mad years ago, but mad or not he's found a way out of prison. Everyone's always said it's impossible to escape from Azkaban, but he's done it, and he's done it as a werewolf who's likely sick between full moons, what with living in that place. There's something driving him to continue, and on the night that Harry defeated You-Know-Who Remus Lupin lost everything he had. Half the Ministry wanted to execute him."

"But in the condition he's in, shouldn't it be easy to catch him, if he's ill – "

"That's what I thought." Harry could hear Mr. Weasley pacing across the floor. "That's what the entire Ministry thought. Magical Law Enforcement figured that they'd have captured him within a few days after he'd escaped, but it's been three weeks, and the only lead we have is an old witch in Wiltshire who says she saw a man matching his description who was trying to break into her cottage."

"But Arthur, everyone's said for years, Hogwarts is safe – "

" – but the safest place is Azkaban," Mr. Weasley finished. "If he could escape from Azkaban, Hogwarts shouldn't be too much of a problem."

"But if half the Ministry wanted Lupin to be executed, how do we know for sure that it's Harry he's after – "

There was a heavy sigh.

"Molly," began Mr. Weasley. He sounded very tired. "The minute Fudge heard that Lupin had escaped he apparated to Azkaban. The guards showed him Lupin's cell. And scratched all over the stone, traced in the dirt, written in _blood_, Molly, was one word, 'Harry.' It doesn't get much clearer than that.

"As a young man Lupin must have thought he'd beaten the odds. He'd been let into Hogwarts, he graduated near the top of his class…sweet Merlin, he was even made a prefect. Most werewolves who contract lycanthropy as young children are lucky to survive to their tenth birthdays. And then to have it all taken away, because a little child managed to win against the man Lupin had put all his hopes for the future with…Molly, we can't afford _not_ to think Lupin wants Harry dead."

Two new voices were growing louder, and Harry looked to see shadows stretching across the passage to the bar.

" – wonder why he's not found it by now."

"Well, it's a pretty small bottle of rat tonic, Ron."

"But there's only so many – "

"Shut up!" Harry hissed.

Ron and Hermione came around the corner; Hermione had a puzzled expression but Ron immediately ran to the door and crouched down next to Harry. "Is that my mum and dad?"

Hermione joined them, pressing her ear against the door.

" – suppose if that's how you feel you'll tell him in the morning, Arthur."

"Not the specifics, of course. Harry doesn't need to know that a criminal's been writing his name in blood."

Ron's face looked ashen. "Who are they talking about?" he whispered.

"_Blood_…it reminds me of just a few months ago, and that whole…business with Ginny and the – "

"I think we ought to go to and get some sleep," Mr. Weasley said. Harry heard his chair being pushed back. "We'll need our energy, getting all seven of them off to the station. I wouldn't put it above Fred and George to play some sort of prank on those Ministry cars."

"Speaking of those two – " The Weasleys' voices were getting further and further away; it seemed they were going out the other door. " – the way they treat Percy is getting…"

After another moment everything was silent. Hermione was chewing on her lower lip in a rather nervous sort of way, whereas Ron looked at Harry with wide, frightened eyes. "Someone's been writing your name in _blood?_ Blimey, Harry…it isn't that bloke – "

"Remus Lupin, yeah," Harry said stoically. The insides of his body felt numb. "Apparently when I defeated Voldemort it ruined Lupin's whole life, and he's supposed to be so powerful that he was the only non-pureblood allowed to follow Voldemort."

Hermione and Ron had cringed both times at the mention of Voldemort's name, but Hermione's face returned to normal first. "Come on, we have to find Scabbers's rat tonic," she said, opening the door. "Now, where was he writing your name in blood?"

Ron looked startled, but Harry answered, "All over his cell in Azkaban."

The three of them proceeded into the bar and began to search for the bottle of tonic. "Harry, that might be really dangerous, magically I mean…I've read some things about spells wizards have done involving blood – "

"So, make Harry feel worse, why don't you!" said Ron. "Here, I found the rat tonic."

"I'm _not_ trying to make him feel worse," Hermione retorted, "I'm trying to help him."

Outside in the corridor they looked at each other for a moment and then proceeded upstairs to their rooms. "Do you think that – " Ron began.

"Oy, you, pipe down, there's some of us as are trying to sleep!" barked the portrait of a very old wizard in a teal cloak.

The silence on the stairs was even worse than Hermione's warnings had been. _You can defeat Lupin,_ said one part of Harry's mind, _you managed to defeat Voldemort when you were just a baby, and twice since then you've faced him again._

But a werewolf, and a werewolf who wanted Harry dead, and one who had been so powerful that –

"I'm _not_ going to be murdered by a werewolf," he said aloud when he had reached his room and closed the door.

"Just stay inside during the full moon, love," murmured the mirror drowsily.


	3. Chapter Three

_Harry, Ron, and Hermione have arrived in the train compartment on their way to Hogwarts._

"That ruddy cat of yours had better stay away from Scabbers on this train," said Ron as they searched for a compartment. "I don't fancy having to write in my first letter home that he became Crookshanks's lunch."

"I've already told you, Ron, Crookshanks had a lot of tuna before we left," replied Hermione, rolling her eyes. "Look, there's someone in this compartment, but I think it's the only one left on the train that has any room."

Harry looked over her shoulder to see a man sitting next to the window, asleep.

The man was wearing scarlet robes, which looked as though they were either very new or not worn frequently. He had thick and shiny black hair that fell to his elbows. His face was very calm as he slept; that and his pale skin gave him the look of a marble statue.

"Who d'you suppose that is?" asked Ron, looking the stranger up and down.

"Professor S. A. Black," Hermione said casually.

"How do you know?"

"It's on his case," she replied; Harry saw that above the man's head he had stored a leather suitcase with "S. A. Black" embossed in fancy script in one corner.

"What do you think he teaches?" Ron asked.

"Well, there's only one thing," Hermione replied, sitting down opposite Professor Black. "It has to be Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Unless maybe Snape got sick of not getting to teach Defense and quit, and this bloke here's his replacement," said Ron hopefully. His face looked wistful for a moment but when he turned to look at Professor Black again he scowled.

"What are you scowling for, Ron?"

"Well look at him, Hermione, he looks like the Darkest thing he's ever battled was a spot on his chin."

"That's a bit of a harsh judgment, seeing as all you've seen him do is sleep," Hermione replied, one eyebrow arched. "I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't hire anyone who's completely incompetent."

"I'm not sure about that," Harry said; he had just remembered Professor Lockhart. "Still, he doesn't look bad to me so far."

Scabbers the rat came out of Ron's pocket and began to sniff about. Ron lifted him out and cast a wary glance towards Crookshanks's basket. "Well, maybe he'll be all right, but I'll tell you one thing, if we end up with another Lockhart I'll skive off lessons as much as I can. Black, that name sounds familiar – oy, Scabbers, watch it!" Scabbers had leapt from Ron's raised hand into the pocket of his shirt, small claws gripping at the fabric. Crookshanks yawned widely.

"It's all right, Ron, Crookshanks shouldn't be hungry until dinner," said Hermione immediately. "Anyway, you can't skive off Defense Against the Dark Arts. I mean, Lockhart was obviously a terrible teacher, but you can't say we didn't learn anything – "

"Yeah, we learned not to let pixies loose if you're a stupid git," said Harry.

"And that modifying people's memories and lying can get you a lot of money," Ron added. "Right useful knowledge, that."

"Professor Black is probably a lot better than Lockhart," Hermione said, stroking Crookshanks behind his ears. "I mean, think about it – we've had one Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who had You-Know-Who in the back of his head, and another who didn't know what he was talking about. Dumbledore's probably gone through a lot of trouble to find a better professor for this year."

"I _hope_ so," said Ron, a bit too loudly on the second word.

"Ron, be quiet, he'll hear you!"

But Professor Black did not stir.

Dumbledore had better have gone through a lot of trouble to find a good professor, Harry thought miserably. Was Dumbledore too trusting? He hadn't found out about Quirrell until it was almost too late, and after that he'd gone and hired Lockhart. Back when Lupin was a boy he'd let him go to Hogwarts, and even if Snape hadn't been after the Stone and hadn't had anything to do with the Chamber of Secrets, he was still far from a pleasant person…

No, Harry thought. Dumbledore was one of the greatest wizards of all time. After two bad professors, he must have worked extra hard to find a good one. Especially if…

"Hermione," he asked, "you wouldn't happen to have one of those books about blood magic here with you, do you? In Crookshanks's basket or anything?"

"No, I don't," Hermione answered as Ron gave Harry a concerned look. "I don't actually own any, but there are some in the library at Hogwarts."

"You don't think Lupin could have really put a curse on you or anything, do you?" asked Ron. "Percy says it's impossible for prisoners to do magic while they're in Azkaban."

"If Lupin's as powerful as everyone says he is, I'm not taking any chances," Harry replied firmly. "Besides, I don't know anything about werewolves."

"Now that I think about it, I don't know much about them either," said Hermione. A bright, distant look came into her eyes. "I'll have to research them when we get back to Hogwarts. If I remember right there are some really thick old books about them in the northeast corner of the library…"

Professor Black shifted in his sleep and made a small noise in the back of his throat; they looked to see if he was awake, but his eyes remained shut and he did not move again.


	4. Chapter Four

_Draco Malfoy arrives with Crabbe and Goyle._

"They have to let you go to Hogsmeade," said Ron. "I mean, what do they think, Lupin's going to jump out in the middle of the street in front of hundreds of people and sink his fangs into you?"

"It doesn't matter what they think," Hermione said, "if Harry's aunt and uncle didn't sign his permission form."

"Why should Dumbledore and McGonagall care about if they signed it? They know perfectly well that Harry's aunt and uncle wouldn't care if he came home in a pinewood box."

"Thanks, Ron," said Harry. "You're probably right, though. All it would mean to the Dursleys would be that Dudley'd get his second bedroom back."

"Whining about your pathetic existence, Potter?" drawled a voice from near the compartment door.

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Harry before turning around.

Malfoy looked exactly the same as he had the last time Harry saw him; Crabbe and Goyle, however, each seemed to have gained another four inches in height over the summer. Standing between them Malfoy looked like a first-year. "Oy, Granger, I think there's a rule about not bringing deformed dogs to school."

"Stop talking about your mother, Malfoy," said Ron.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Keep your filthy mouth shut, Weasel."

"I think you ought to take your own advice," replied Hermione.

For a second Malfoy looked as though he were about to attack them all; then, suddenly, he relaxed and gave them a very superior smirk. "Well, I suppose I ought to let you have your fun," he said, arching his eyebrows at Harry. "After all, you won't get away with it much longer."

Crabbe and Goyle laughed in a way that reminded Harry very strongly of Dudley after he'd just made some smaller boy cry. He tilted his head back and met Malfoy's eyes. "If you can't stop babbling about nothing, Malfoy, go and smack your head upside a wall and see if that makes it better."

Malfoy looked pointedly in the direction of Professor Black. "I doubt he'll be very happy about it."

"About you smacking your head upside a wall? Well, maybe if you bleed on his robes or something."

"About you three pieces of filth talking about my mother, Potter," Malfoy spat. "You really are incredibly stupid. I suppose that's what happens when you aren't raised by the right sort of people. That's our new professor, isn't it?"

"Well done, Malfoy," said Hermione.

"Do you know what my mother's maiden name is, Granger?"

"'Course we do, it's Malfoy," Ron snarled. "There has to be something to account for why you're a pea-brained midget."

Harry had a nasty feeling that he knew what was coming next.

Malfoy turned slightly and looked at Ron. "Black. Narcissa Black."

"Big deal," said Ron after a split second had passed. He still sounded and looked like he always did, but Harry suspected the news had affected him more than he was letting on. "If you go far back enough you've got a something-great grandmother with the maiden name Weasley."

"My mum and Professor Black are first cousins," Malfoy drawled. "They saw each other all the time when they were kids. I don't suppose it'll be very long before he asks me to call him Sirius. Outside of class, of course."

"Yeah, and do you want to know what he'll call _you_ behind your back?" Harry asked.

Before he realized what was happening Malfoy had shoved him off his seat and onto the floor; Ron was trying to pull Malfoy off of him but Goyle was attempting to push Ron back against the wall of the compartment. Malfoy's fist swung at Harry's face, but he jerked his head away and managed to kick Malfoy hard in the stomach. From the corner of his eye he could see that Hermione was clenching onto Crabbe's arm and pulling it back as hard as she could.

"You're going to meet a sorry end one of these days, Potter," Malfoy gasped before he lunged at Harry again.

Goyle had managed to pin Ron against the wall, but Ron was fighting him off with all his might. Crabbe had shaken Hermione off; she ran over to Harry and Malfoy and grabbed Malfoy by the shoulders to drag him off of Harry. Ron managed to get one arm free and struck Goyle hard in the nose; Goyle bellowed in pain and Crabbe made to punch Ron directly in the eye -

"WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU ALL DOING?!"

Professor Black had woken up.

Malfoy hurriedly stood up, almost knocking Hermione over in the process. Goyle reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and held it against his freshly bleeding nose. "Professor, they were saying things about my mother - " Malfoy began in a voice so falsely earnest that Harry wanted to be sick.

"I don't care what it was about or who started it," Professor Black snapped. He had a very rich voice that seemed to come from deep within his throat. "Who belongs in this compartment?"

"We do," said Harry, standing up. "Me and Ron and Hermione."

Professor Black turned to look at him; he had pale gray eyes that darted from Harry's feet to his head and lingered on his scar. "I see," he said softly. "You other three, get out of here."

A look of confusion spread over Malfoy's face; upon seeing that Harry was looking at him he sneered and quickly left the compartment, Crabbe and Goyle following.

"Scabbers!" Ron cried suddenly.

"What?"

"My rat! He was in my shirt pocket and then Goyle - Hermione, if Crookshanks got him - Scabbers!"

"He's right here, Ron," said Harry, spotting the rat up on the luggage rack. He jumped up on the seat and brought him down.

But Professor Black was more interested in Crookshanks. "This poor cat looks terrified," he said, reaching one hand into the basket. Crookshanks sniffed at his finger.

"Here, I'll take him," said Hermione. "Poor Crookshanks, did they scare you?"

Ron slipped Scabbers back into his shirt pocket and sat down directly opposite from Professor Black. "How come you're riding the train?" he said after a few seconds.

"What?" Professor Black looked over at Ron. "Oh, right, the train. Well, it's a bit of a long story, but the end result is that the Ministry confiscated my motorbike. You see, it wasn't supposed to be able to fly."


	5. Chapter Five

**Author's Note: Various reviewers have asked me if Sirius is Harry's godfather in this story. Yes, he is, and yes, there is a very good reason why Harry couldn't go and live with him, though Sirius wanted him very much.**

_The dementor arrives._

"Yeah?" said Ron, looking interested. "My dad had a flying car and the Ministry fined him. They didn't confiscate it, though…they couldn't, it's still loose somewhere in the Forbidden Forest. If nothing else has killed it, that is."

Professor Black smiled briefly. "If you'll excuse me," he said, rising from his seat and reaching for the handle of the compartment door. "I won't be gone a minute."

"A flying motorbike," said Ron as soon as the door closed. "Bet Fred and George would love to have one of those…d'you reckon Professor Black's really Malfoy's mum's cousin?"

"If he is, he certainly doesn't seem to affect him much," replied Hermione. "I think he probably is. Malfoy's a nasty little…"

"Go on, Hermione, say it," said Harry, grinning. He wasn't sure yet exactly what he thought of Professor Black, but a professor who shouted at Malfoy couldn't be all bad.

"…but he isn't stupid," Hermione finished. "It's the sort of thing a person could check too easily, if two pureblood wizards are related."

"Maybe they're cousins the way Dudley and I are cousins," Harry said. "If I was a teacher and I had Dudley's son in my class, I wouldn't hesitate to – " He stopped suddenly. It wouldn't be fair to be cruel to Dudley's son just because of whom his father was; it would be like Professor Snape's hatred of Harry.

"He looks posh enough, anyway," commented Ron. "That case up there's the sort of thing that Mum wishes Dad had to take to work."

"Does it look too dark outside to you two?" Hermione said suddenly.

Harry looked out the window. The sky was a shade of dark gray only a couple of hues lighter than black, and large raindrops were spattering against the windows. A moment later the lights over their heads brightened, and lights turned on in the corridor.

"Hope this isn't going to slow down the train," Ron said. "I've been looking forward to the feast for the last hour."

"It isn't nearly time," said Hermione. "It must just be dark outside because of all the clouds and rain."

The train stopped and the lights went dead.

"Great," came Ron's voice in the dark. "We've broken down and now we'll never get to the feast. If only I weren't so _hungry_…"

"I'm sure it's something they'll have fixed before long," Hermione replied.

"Hang on," said Ron. Harry could see a shadowy figure lean over to the window and rub away some of the fog. "It looks like there're people out there…at least one person for sure. The train's never stopped to pick up people along the way, has it?"

The door to the compartment squeaked open and two figures stuck their heads through the doorway. "Hello," said one of them. "Ronniekins isn't scared, is he?"

"Shut up, Fred," Ron muttered.

"Is there any room to sit down?" asked the voice closer to Harry, which he assumed belonged to George. "It's not nice to leave guests standing about in the doorway, you know."

"Fred! Geroff!"

"Sorry, didn't see you there."

Harry moved just in time to avoid being squashed by George. Somewhere in the compartment he heard what sounded like someone rattling a locked door, followed by hissing and a squealing noise.

"Hermione! Get your bloody cat – Crookshanks, you – Scabbers! _Hermione, get your cat!_"

Crookshanks ran over next to Harry, who picked him up.

"He's just scared, Ron," said Hermione, taking Crookshanks back from Harry. "I don't think he was purposefully trying to get Scabbers."

"'Course he was," said George. "Thought he'd be kind and put him out of his misery."

"Look, why don't the two of you – "

"Be quiet!" said an urgent voice from the door.

A small light shone, showing Professor Black's concerned face. "I want all of you to stay here," he said. "Under no circumstances are you to leave this compartment, is that understood?"

"Yes," said Hermione.

"Harry? Understood?"

Harry blinked. "Yeah," he said after a second. Professor Black nodded and was gone.

Everything was silent except for the rain against the windows.

"Who was that?" Fred asked.

"New Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

"Oh."

Harry wondered how far away from the nearest town they were – or, rather, how far away from the nearest place with wizards they were. He thought they were probably quite far. Did Remus Lupin know when the train ran? Had he decided to kill Harry, before Harry could reach Hogwarts and Dumbledore and safety? As far as Harry knew it wasn't the full moon, but if a man were as powerful a wizard as Lupin, what difference did it make?

From outside in the corridor came a sickening gasp.

"It's Professor Black," said Harry, lunging for the door and looking out its glass windowpane. He couldn't see anything at all, nor hear anything else.

"He'll be fine, Harry," came Hermione's nervous voice, "he's a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

"Since when has that meant much of anything at this school?" Being unable to see what was happening was worse than the most horrible sight Harry could imagine.

"I reckon she's right, Harry," said Ron, "he seemed like the sort of bloke who – "

There was a faint cry.

"I'm going," said Harry, leaping to his feet.

"Harry, you can't – "

"Harry, you promised you wouldn't – "

"I don't care!" he snapped at the voices in the darkness.

"You're thirteen years old!" Hermione cried as Harry opened the door and raced outside.

_And I've defeated Voldemort three times,_ he thought.

Outside in the corridor he felt his way along the walls, his hands sliding from wooden panels to slick glass. Somewhere up ahead was a very weak light. Harry reached out in front of him, feeling for anything that might come along, staggering towards the light. He took his wand from his pocket. _"Lumos!"_

The minute the light from his wand illuminated what lay ahead of him he stopped, a cold, sinking feeling surrounding him like water from an icy lake.

A very tall and thin figure stood before him, wearing a black cloak that obscured its face. From its mouth came a slow intake of air, a noise that sounded like drowning person struggling for breath. Harry's own breath seemed to have died in his chest.

He was no longer sure if he were standing; it felt as though he were being sucked in by the creature, into a cold and desolate place…

A terrified scream rang in his ears, followed by loud, incoherent words and shouting. He was sightless, he did not know if he –

"Harry! Damn it, Harry, open your eyes – " A stinging feeling spread across his face.

"What?"

The lights had come back on in the corridor. He was on the ground; he could see a lamp swinging overhead and Ron and Hermione's faces looking down at him. A strong arm was supporting his back, and he turned his head to see that Professor Black was kneeling beside him.

"I told you," he said, his voice slow and infuriated, "not to leave the compartment. Under any circumstances."

"I – " Harry started, but then stopped when the train swerved and he closed his eyes again. "I was worried about you."

Black's face softened. "I appreciate the concern," he said, "but dementors are frightening enough without having to worry about others."

"Is that what that thing was?" Harry found he could sit up. "What's a dementor?"

"A particularly foul sort of creature," said Black, as Ron and Hermione helped Harry to his feet, "who guards Azkaban. They were here looking for Remus Lupin."

"I thought maybe it was Lupin," Harry said. "Who got on the train when it stopped."

"No." Black looked at Harry with steady, gray eyes. "In the future I don't ever want you to disobey me, no matter what your feelings in the matter are. Should something dangerous happen again I can deal with it." A furtive smile came over his face. "I think you'll find I'm different than your former defense professors in that respect. Now go back to the compartment, I have to speak to the conductor."

"Do you – " Harry swallowed. "Do you thinking something dangerous is likely to happen again?"

Black had begun to walk away down the corridor; he stopped and turned. "I don't know," he said softly. "From what I do know, Remus Lupin is a very unpredictable man."


	6. Chapter Six

_The train arrives at Hogwarts and the feast begins._

"Look, there's Hagrid," Hermione said.

Harry turned to see where she was pointing. Hagrid was standing on the opposite end of the platform, calling out to the first years, who would as always be traveling by boat across the lake. The sight of him settled the uneasy feeling that had been in Harry's stomach since the dementor had arrived, but a moment later he realized: during Hagrid's time in Azkaban last year he must have been with the dementors.

Hagrid looked over his shoulder and his face lit up. "Oy, you three! All righ'?"

They waved, the cold and stinging rain having taken their strength to call back. All around them people were walking past in a hurry, eager to get out of the bad weather.

"I've got a surprise fer yeh!" Hagrid shouted. "You'll be findin' out soo – SIRIUS BLACK!"

Professor Black was standing a few feet away from Hagrid; before Harry knew what was happening Hagrid had thrown his enormous arms around Black in an engulfing hug. Black didn't seem to mind; when Hagrid let go he was smiling, saying something Harry couldn't hear.

"He's all right, then," said Ron as the three of them climbed into one of the stagecoaches. "So far he's yelled at Malfoy, fought off a dementor, Hagrid likes him, and oh, yeah, he had a flying motorbike – definitely better than Lockhart."

Harry shivered inside the coach. "About the dementor…are you two sure no one screamed?"

"You were on the floor," Hermione said, "and you were kicking about, like you were fighting someone invisible or having a fit or something. Then Professor Black ran past the dementor and I think then I gasped, but no, no one screamed."

"I wonder what it was that came out of his wand," Ron wondered aloud. "It was something like a silver mist, only it had legs – "

"Legs?" interrupted Hermione. "I didn't see any legs."

"You didn't? I did, there were at least three of them."

The coach reached the gates of the school; on either side stood a dementor, the separation of the coach door making it no less ominous. Harry felt as though the blood in his body had been drained and replaced with ice.

"I hate those things," said Ron in a miserable small voice. He was looking out the window. "Nothing happened to me when we saw the first one, but these ones are closer. I hope they find Lupin soon and go back to Azkaban where they belong."

"Me too," Hermione said faintly. She was slightly slumped over in her seat, her eyes closed.

A few moments later the carriage had stopped; Ron, who was closest to the door, pushed it open and climbed out. Hermione and then Harry followed him.

"Potter!" called a spitefully gleeful voice. Malfoy was shoving his way through the crowd of students. "Potter, is it true you had a fit? You took one look at the big scary dementor and fell straight to the floor? Did you froth at the mouth as well, Potter?"

"Eat dung, Malfoy," said Ron. Malfoy was standing on the steps to the castle, blocking the way to the door; Ron looked as though he was about to push him when –

"Is there a reason why we're all still standing out in the rain?" Professor Black was climbing out of a carriage.

Malfoy raised one eyebrow and smirked before opening the door.

The heat in the entrance hall from both hundreds of students and the gigantic torches on the walls created a mist of steam. Harry took off his glasses and wiped them on his robe. As he did so, he saw a small brown blob on the floor move briskly from the pile of trunks in the corner and over to Hermione.

"No, Crookshanks, go back to your basket so they can take you upstairs!" she said, sounding mildly frustrated. Harry put his glasses back on. Crookshanks sat stubbornly on the floor, looking up at Hermione with unblinking eyes. He had something white in his mouth.

"Now he's eating paper," she said, sighing heavily. "Crookshanks, bad cat, you know you don't eat paper."

"Crookshanks, good cat, eat all the paper you want," Ron interjected. "Fill up your stomach so you won't be hungry for hours and hours."

"Potter and Granger!" called a voice from behind.

Harry whirled round to see Professor McGonagall a few feet behind them, shouting over the animated conversation of the other students. At the sound of her voice a path hurriedly cleared.

"You haven't done anything wrong – that I know of, that is," she said abruptly. "Weasley, keep walking."

Ron exchanged confused looks with Harry and headed off to the feast.

McGonagall led them to her office, where they sat down near the crackling fire. "I hear you became ill on the train, Potter," she said.

"Yeah," he replied, "but I'm – "

At that moment the door opened and Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, walked in with what looked like a rather large bar of chocolate. "Miss Granger, if you would wait outside for a moment, please."

"I'm fine!" Harry protested as Hermione shot him a sympathetic look and closed the door behind her.

"Dementors are not to be taken lightly, Mr. Potter!" Madam Pomfrey hastily unwrapped the chocolate bar and thrust it forward at him.

"I know, but I'm okay, really – "

Madam Pomfrey didn't seem to have heard him. "Going as long between dementors and chocolate as you have! Eat up! Didn't Professor Black offer you any?"

"No, he didn't," said Harry, taking his first tentative bite.

The news didn't please her. "He didn't? One would think that under the circumstances – "

"I believe Professor Black himself was made fairly ill by the dementors, Poppy," Professor McGonagall said firmly.

Madam Pomfrey pressed her lips together. "You're to eat all of that, Potter," she said. "Every last bit, down to the crumbs and the stickiness it leaves on your fingers. Are you sure you feel all right?"

"Yes!" Harry said, a little too loudly.

"Feel free to come to the hospital wing if you feel you need another one."

"I need to speak to Miss Granger about her classes, please send her in," said McGonagall.

Hermione's talk with McGonagall took a few minutes, during which Harry forced himself to eat the enormous chocolate bar. It tasted funny on an empty stomach. At last Hermione and McGonagall came out of the office and the three of them went down to the feast.

Hermione looked rather flustered. "Harry," she whispered when McGonagall was a good seven steps in front of them, "do you know of any boy called Astrophil in this school?"

The rich scent of roasted meat met them as they reached the landing. "No," Harry said. "Why?"

Hermione held up two pieces of paper with distinct puncture marks near the tops. "Crookshanks got hold of his love letter."

"_What?_"

"I don't know how," she said, folding the paper and slipping it into her pocket. "I was reading some of it while you were talking to Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. It's all very gushy, the sort of thing you wouldn't want other people reading, so I was hoping I could find Astrophil and give it back to him."

They now stood in front of the door to the Great Hall; Professor Flitwick was coming down the center aisle carrying a pointed hat and a small stool.

"We've missed the Sorting!" Hermione moaned.

Ron had saved seats for Harry and Hermione. "Bloody long Sorting," he whispered. "There must have been at least twenty people with 'T' surnames alone."

Dumbledore had risen from his chair, his half-moon spectacles flashing in the candlelight. "Welcome!" he said, and the hall quieted itself.

Harry felt an immense feeling of serenity come over him.

"Welcome," Dumbledore continued, "to yet another year! As always there are a few announcements, including one this year that requires your absolute attention. As you all no doubt know by now, the dementors of Azkaban have business at this school and will be staying until it is finished."

"What if they never catch him?" Ron muttered. "I don't fancy sharing space with those things until I leave school."

"Due to these circumstances, it is extremely dangerous for any of you to leave the school or its grounds without permission. Dementors are not fooled; they know no difference between the most innocent of wizards and the most vicious of madmen. Never go closer to one than is absolutely necessary."

"No kidding," said Harry, rolling his eyes.

"In other, happier news, we have two new teachers among us this year."

"Snape? Please, please tell me Snape was either sacked or killed by an exploding potion over the summer," Ron begged.

"No such luck, mate," said Seamus Finnegan, who was sitting to Hermione's left. "He's right over there."

Professor Snape sat on the opposite end of the room from Harry, at the staff table between Professors Sprout and Vector. He was icily surveying the room; Harry turned away before Snape noticed he was staring.

"First," said Dumbledore, "Professor Black has agreed to take the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Black stood; the applause was mild but steady, except for Harry's end of the Gryffindor table, who clapped loudly. "Look at him!" he heard Parvati Patil whisper to her friend Lavender Brown. "He's gorgeous!"

Ron groaned. Lavender shot him a rather nasty look and whispered back to Parvati, "I love it when blokes have long hair."

"Harry," Hermione said, "look at Snape!"

Harry had not thought it possible for Snape to look at another human being with more sheer hatred than he did when he looked at Harry, but it seemed he had been mistaken. Snape looked as though he would gladly pick up his knife and drive it through Black's heart multiple times.

"Secondly," Dumbledore continued, "Professor Kettleburn, our former Care of Magical Creatures teacher, has retired after the unfortunate loss of his second leg, fourth finger, and tenth pair of eyebrows. However, I am sure that our new professor will be a worthy replacement. Rubeus Hagrid will take on the position in addition to his responsibilities as gamekeeper."

Hagrid got to his feet; Harry, Ron, and Hermione cheered loudly, as did most of the Gryffindors, the Weasley twins in particular. Hagrid looked as though he were about to burst joyous tears. "Remember, he said he had a surprise," said Hermione when the cheers died down.

"I believe," said Dumbledore, "that I have reached the end of the announcements. Feast away!"


	7. Chapter Seven

_Harry, Ron, and Hermione are eating dinner after Draco Malfoy was cut by Buckbeak._

"They can't legitimately fire him, can they?" Hermione asked. "I mean, Hagrid told the entire class never to insult a hippogriff. It's Malfoy's own fault that he didn't listen."

"According to Malfoy and his father, Hagrid'll have told the class that hippogriffs have the personalities of little baby bunnies," said Ron, dismally poking at his steak-and-kidney pie. "I bet Malfoy's dad wishes that Hagrid was still in Azkaban and that every Muggle-born in the school was dead."

Harry looked past Ron's shoulder at the Slytherin table. The Slytherin third-years were gathered around one end, whispering furtively and looking over their shoulders every few seconds. Pansy Parkinson was sniffing rather loudly, surrounded by her gang of Slytherin girls, who were patting her on the shoulder and passing her handkerchiefs.

Ron turned to see what Harry was looking at. "Pathetic," he said, rolling his eyes, "the way some people go on. I suppose she fancies him."

Hermione reached for her glass of water. "Oh, Ron, you wouldn't happen to know of any boy called Astrophil, would you?"

"_Astrophil?_ No, but I already feel sorry for the bloke. Why d'you want to know?"

"No reason," said Hermione, at the same time Harry said, "Hermione found his love letter."

"His _love letter?_"

Hermione gave both of them very irritated looks. "Harry, you shouldn't have told him! I told you before, it's the sort of thing a person wouldn't want anyone else reading."

"_You_ read it," said Ron.

"Well honestly, Ron, of course I read it, I had to see what it was!"

"Yeah, but I bet you didn't just read the first few lines and think, 'Oh, some bloke's love letter, better stop now'!"

Dinner had ended; the entire school was leaving the Great Hall. Harry stood up to follow them.

"Why do you care about it anyway?" Hermione asked as they passed through the door.

"I don't," Ron retorted. "I don't care one way or another about some love letter. I just think it's stupid to say 'no one else should read it' when you've read it yourself."

"I _would_ have stopped reading it," Hermione insisted. "It's just – well, it's a very odd sort of letter."

"Odd in what way?" asked Harry, mildly interested. He was tired of thinking about Malfoy and about the possibility of Hagrid getting sacked, and the idea of doing homework didn't sound much more appealing.

"Well, some parts are just sort of the standard 'I love you, you're wonderful' sort of thing – "

"There's a _standard?_" asked Ron, looking amazed.

" – but the rest is almost like a sort of code." They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, already opened by someone ahead of them. "Oh, fine, I'll let you two read it if you want to."

"I only want to so I know what you're bloody talking about," Ron insisted.

The three of them sat at a table at the far end of the common room. Hermione took the letter from her bag and spread out the two sheets side by side. The letter began abruptly with no salutation.

_I know you're going to laugh when you read this, as it's not often that I get all sappy on you, but I really am going to miss holding you in my arms while we're apart. (Stop laughing!) I don't know how you can stand to go there and listen to Eris and Ares for another second. I just hope Tithonus stays away like you think he's going to._

_In the last few months I've really got used to being able to kiss you and being able to have you sit in my lap whenever we're alone. That's what I wanted most of last year, you know. Sometimes at dinner you'd be laughing at something P. said and I'd have to stop myself from staring at your mouth – your whole face, really, but your mouth in particular. Your lips looked as soft as I know they are now._

_If you want to get away from Eris and the rest of them, don't be afraid – well, be cautious, but don't be afraid. You know you can stay at P.'s and that I'll visit you the minute I can. I'll bring W. as well if you want me to, though poor W. might wish he'd stayed home after I get my hands on you. (Joking...well, sort of. I'd be "gentlemanly" – ha! – and wouldn't kiss you until we were alone. IF then, as I'm still irritated at you for saying I'm the "perfect gentleman" in that sarcastic, mocking way you have.)_

_It's only two weeks, I just have to keep telling myself that, it's only two weeks and then we'll be together again._

_Try to put up as best you can with Eris and Ares and how they complain about mortals. Not everyone thinks like they do, thank God. Don't listen to the Scourge, either, the nasty little git._

_Love you always, Astrophil_

"Someone's been keeping it for a while," Ron said when they'd finished, "if Astrophil wrote it before Christmas."

"But we don't know if that's when he wrote it," replied Hermione. "Maybe Astrophil and his girlfriend were together somewhere during the summer and she had to leave for two weeks. Eris and the rest of them are really vague too – I wonder why Astrophil's girlfriend would be afraid of getting away from them."

Harry skimmed the letter again. Eris at least sounded like someone in a position of authority, a relative perhaps. He tilted his head back and yawned.

"Hey, look, Hagrid's light is on," said Ron, who was looking out the window. "The dementors aren't that close to the school, right? We could go and see him if we're careful about it."

"I thought I'd go to the library and look for some of those books about blood magic," said Hermione. "Besides, I don't know if Harry should – "

"No one said I couldn't go on the grounds," said Harry at once. "You don't think the Grim or whatever it is will get me, do you?"

They put their books and other things in their dormitories and left the tower, anxiously listening for other footsteps in the corridors. No one crossed their path.

When they arrived at the hut Hagrid was sitting at his table, staring at an enormous tankard while Fang drooled on the floor. The smell of alcohol was so strong that it almost felt like a slap in the face.

"'lo," said Hagrid, after they had shut the door behind them. "Looks like Dumbledore'll hafta find a new teacher, eh?"

"They sacked you," said Hermione at once, an astonished look on her face.

Hagrid drained what was left in the tankard. "Nope. Not sacked – not sacked _yet_, tha' is. The way Malfoy's goin' on 'bout 'is arm, I 'spect the school gov'nors'll have me gone inna next couple o' hours."

"It couldn't have been that deep of a cut," Ron said, sitting down at the opposite end of the table. Harry and Hermione sat at the two remaining sides.

"'pparently he's still inna hospital wing," mumbled Hagrid, "cryin' on and on 'bout 'is arm."

"There's no way it's that bad," said Harry immediately. "Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let it be that bad, she regrew all the bones in my arm last year and I got through it all right. He's just faking it to see if he can get you sacked, I bet you anything."

"Thought hippogriffs woulda made a good firs' lesson," Hagrid said, staring miserably at the empty tankard. "Better'n puffskeins or flobberworms…"

"They _did_, until Malfoy didn't listen and got himself cut," said Hermione intensely. "I learned lots, didn't you two?"

"Yeah," said Harry and Ron in unison.

"It isn't your fault he didn't listen to you," she continued. "We'll tell that to Dumbledore. You did everything right, it's Malfoy who's the problem."

Hagrid looked a bit less dismal. "Tha's what Professor Black said."

"Professor Black?" Harry asked. "Was he here?"

"Oh yeah, he stopped by 'bout ten minutes or so ago," replied Hagrid. "Said Malfoy didn' listen t'him on the train and he wouldn' be s'prised if Malfoy didn' listen to me."

"D'you know him well?" asked Harry, though he knew that Hagrid must.

Hagrid blinked at him a few times and then suddenly stood up with a great effort and walked out the door; Hermione gave Harry a nervous look and followed him. Moments later there was a splash.

"He stuck his head in a water barrel," said Hermione, coming back inside a moment before Hagrid, whose hair and beard were soaked and dripping on the floor.

Hagrid reached for a towel and began to rub at his beard. "What was it y'asked me 'gain?"

"If you knew Professor Black well."

"Oh yeah," answered Hagrid, "righ' decen' bloke. Knew 'im when he was in school, and a bit after s'well. He coulda taught 'ere before, as a matter o' fact, if e'd wanted to."

"Really?"

"Yep. Back after ol' Professor Carter retired, Dumbledore 'ad two people 'e was considerin' for the job – teachin' Potions, tha' is. He offered it teh Sirius Black first, but Sirius 'ad other plans, so Dumbledore offered it teh Snape."

That explained Snape's hatred, Harry thought; Snape would never want to be thought second-best when it came to Potions, or anything else he cared about, for that matter.

"Feelin' better now," Hagrid said. "Glad you lot came teh see me, hope – "

He stopped, his mouth still open, and looked at Harry with a horrified expression on his face.

"YEH CAN'T BE WANDERIN' 'BOUT AFTER DARK!" he bellowed, so loud that Fang began to bark. "WHAT WITH A MURDERIN' WEREWOLF LOOSE! WHAT'RE YEH THINKIN'!"

Hagrid threw open the door and pulled Harry to it, with Ron and Hermione following. "I'm glad yeh care 'bout me, but if I catch yeh out after dark again…! Now c'mon, I'm takin' the lot of yeh back to school."


	8. Chapter Eight

_Harry goes to Potions on Thursday morning._

"The potion you will create today," Snape began, once the class had all taken their seats, "is a Shrinking Solution, one of the most useful and also one of the most troublesome potions."

"Useful?" Harry whispered to Ron. "What's so useful about shrinking things?"

"Maybe Snape uses it to shrink his nose every morning," Ron whispered back. "I'd hate to see what it started out as…"

"The antidote is too complex for your level; you will learn it in your sixth year of study, if you take my N.E.W.T. class," Snape continued, giving Neville a nasty look that clearly indicated he thought Neville was more likely to turn into a newt than to get into the N.E.W.T. class. "I have a small vial of antidote in my pocket for emergencies only. Do not think I will administer it to any blithering idiot who spills the solution onto his books or shrinks his hand by accident. If and only if your life is in danger will you be allowed to use it. There are a few things I must mention about the ingredients…"

Harry's mind drifted off; he didn't see what the point of listening was, as Snape would surely find a way to lower his marks even if he produced a perfect Shrinking Solution. Instead, Harry was thinking about the first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson in the afternoon.

For a minute he tried to imagine Black as the Potions master; he had a feeling that Black was the sort who would willingly give some antidote to anyone who accidentally spilled the solution. He briefly wondered what plans Black had had that had prevented him from taking the job.

"Be sure to properly skin the shrivelfig," Snape was saying. "They cost the school a fairly substantial sum of money. Those who do not skin their shrivelfigs correctly will learn, firsthand, about the proper method of skinning – " he paused for significance " – from Mr. Filch after classes."

Whatever the plans had been, Harry hoped they'd been very, very important.

"Instructions and ingredients are on the blackboard. Two to a table. You have until the end of class to mix a proper Shrinking Solution, and believe me, they will be fully tested."

Harry was just turning to Ron when someone behind him tugged on his sleeve. "Harry? D'you think you could share a table with me?"

"I'm rubbish at this," Harry answered, turning round. "It's probably not going to help you much, Neville."

"You get better marks than I do, anyway," Neville said morosely. "I hate to ask Hermione all the time, she already said she'd read through my Charms essays."

Harry caught Ron's eye; Ron shrugged. "Sure," Harry said. "How about the table across from the door?"

Neville's anxiety was evident from the moment he set down his cauldron. His hand shook as he chopped the daisy roots, as well as when he poured the leech juice, which led to about twice the necessary amount splashing into the mixture. He dropped his rat spleen on the floor and had to wash it off before he could cut it into fourths and drop the fourths in the potion at thirty-second intervals.

"Don't worry about Snape," Harry whispered. "He wants you to get all nervous and mess things up. Just don't even think about him."

"I can't help it," Neville said, looking as though he was about to burst into tears.

"Have I missed much, sir?"

Harry looked up and groaned before he could stop himself. Malfoy had just walked through the door, his arm in a large sling and a superior expression on his face.

"If you begin now you will have just enough time to produce your Shrinking Solution," Snape answered. "Of course, as circumstances have allotted you ten minutes less than the rest of the class, I will not blame you if your solution is not up to par." Harry swore under his breath. He felt certain that Snape would never have extended the same privilege to any of the Gryffindors.

"I'll need some help, though, sir," said Malfoy, glancing at the board. "There was some considerable muscle damage in my arm – "

"Is it terribly awful, Draco?" Pansy Parkinson asked, her eyes wide.

"Nothing I can't handle," he replied, in a voice that Harry supposed was supposed to sound brave and noble. In truth, it made Malfoy sound like an actor in a very bad film, the sort that Aunt Petunia liked to weep over sometimes in the afternoons.

Snape's eyes swept the room. "Potter's potion is in its later stages, shockingly enough. Potter, you will assist Malfoy with his cutting and skinning."

Malfoy smirked. Harry heard a small gasp next to him as Neville dropped his wand on the floor.

"Don't worry," he whispered to Neville as Malfoy went to the supply cupboard to get his materials. "I'll deal with him."

"Chop these daisy roots, Potter," Malfoy ordered the minute he sat down at the table. "If you do a shoddy job of it, I'll tell Professor Snape and you'll just have to do it over again. It isn't fair that my education should suffer because of your friend Hagrid's lethal beast."

Harry calmly lined up the roots and began to cut them into equal lengths. "So, Malfoy," he said, as casually as he could. "Arm still hurting much?"

"I was lucky it didn't have to be amputated, Potter," Malfoy hissed.

"Yeah, I had the bones in one of mine removed last year." The roots were done; he reached for the shrivelfig. "Dobby's got a lot of power for someone so small, doesn't he? It's a miracle your father didn't break his back when Dobby sent him tumbling down the stairs."

From the corner of his eye, he thought he could see the tiniest of smiles on Neville's face.

"I'll break _your_ back, Potter, if you say another word about my father."

"Will you?" Harry asked. "That's too bad. I was hoping to ask Professor Black about pathetically idiotic wizards who get sacked as school governors, but if you insist…you know, I think your mum's cousin might be the best Defense professor yet."

"Do you," Malfoy drawled; a familiar malicious look that Harry didn't like at all had replaced the expression of rage. "Quirrell was my favorite, personally. Things might have been better around here if Quirrell had been more…successful."

"I would have thought Lockhart would be your favorite, actually. You know, stuck-up, thick as a rock, completely oblivious to the fact that everyone mocked him behind his back."

"You – " Malfoy began, but whatever he said next was blocked out by Neville exclaiming, "Look, Harry, it's turning green!"

The Shrinking Solutions, according to the blackboard, were supposed to turn a neon green a few steps before they were completed. Before Harry could offer encouragement, Snape marched down the aisle and looked at Neville's potion, his eyebrows raised.

"Well well well, Longbottom, this certainly is a surprise. A potion of your creation that actually resembles the other potions in the class? A surprise indeed. I see you have two ingredients left to add, continue."

Neville reached for the ground moss; Snape towered over him, watching his every move. With a painful-looking gulp, Neville began to sprinkle it over the solution, but his hand shook and the rest of the moss fell in all at once. "Oh dear, Longbottom. That certainly is going to alter the outcome a great deal." There was one thing left, a marigold petal. Neville hurriedly dropped it in and pulled back from the cauldron as though he feared it would explode in his face.

"There, you have completed the last step. Do not touch it until the end of class. We will test it then."

"It's going to be awful," Neville muttered, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Their table did not talk for the remaining minutes of class; having finished Malfoy's chopping and skinning, Harry gazed idly at the clock and hoped that Neville's potion would at least be good enough to get passing marks. As the rest of the class began to get their things together Snape again strode over to the table.

"Everyone gather around this table, I am going to test Longbottom's Shrinking Solution. Let's see, I will need a subject…Longbottom, give me your toad."

Neville was startled. "My toad?"

"Yes, didn't you hear what I said? If the potion is correct he will suffer no harm. If, however, your usual abysmal work has ruined it, he may very well be poisoned."

"I don't want to give you Trevor," Neville whispered fearfully.

This was taking things too far. Neville's potion had been fine until Snape had had to stand over him and make him afraid; Harry felt a surge of rage rising in his chest. At his Muggle school he'd once found a caterpillar outside on a leaf, and just as he was working out how to take it home and manage to feed it Dudley had come along, thrown the caterpillar on the ground, and stomped it flat.

"Do you not understand me, Longbottom?" Snape hissed. "You will surrender your toad to me _now._"

Neville's shaking hand reached into his pocket.

Without quite knowing what he was doing, Harry grabbed Neville's cauldron. The class gasped; before Snape could do anything other than shout Harry raised the cauldron to his lips and emptied the potion down his throat. It tasted like overcooked cabbage and weak tea.

The room suddenly seemed too – too _much,_ was the only word that came to Harry's mind. Angles seemed sharper. Colors seemed deeper. Malfoy's hair looked like a bright patch of light and the smell of Lavender Brown's perfume seemed to permeate the air to the point that it was almost overwhelming. Ron's nose was too long and Hermione's books were too big.

As soon as the sensation had come upon him, it stopped, to be replaced by blackness.


	9. Chapter Nine

_The first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson._

"Are you sure you're all right, Harry?" Hermione asked as they headed off for Professor Black's class.

"Fine," Harry muttered. The last thing he needed was Malfoy overhearing Hermione and finding another excuse to jeer at him – not that Malfoy needed much of an excuse. The incident with Neville's potion, though it seemed to have gained Harry some respect from the other Gryffindors, had given Malfoy the perfect opportunity to taunt him loudly during lunch and give a repeat performance of his Harry-passing-out impression, to the delight of the entire Slytherin table.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, its walls covered with smiling photographs of Lockhart during the previous year, had undergone a redecoration. The walls were hidden behind embroidered tapestries in royal blue, gold, crimson, and silver; the windows were all wide open, and Professor Black was standing at the front of the room, looking over some papers. "Hello," he said when he looked up, and smiled. "Everyone find a seat."

Parvati and Lavender promptly rushed for desks in the first row. Harry sat in the second, with Ron on his left and Neville on his right. Hermione sat in front of him, next to Lavender, and looked eager to begin taking notes.

Black began to pace the front of the room. "I understand that during your last year there was a dueling club started, which was taught by an incompetent professor and failed disastrously." Ron snorted. "Is it safe for me to assume that none of you have been properly trained to duel?"

There was a general murmur of agreement.

"All right, that's where we're starting." Black stopped his pacing and looked out at the class. "You, in the front row, with the long braid."

Parvati, who had been doodling something on a bit of parchment, looked up and blushed. "Me?"

"Yes, what's your name?"

"Parvati Patil." She exchanged looks with Lavender, who giggled.

"Couple of nutters," Ron muttered under his breath.

Black seemed unperturbed. "Parvati, yes, I had your sister earlier today. I want you to hold out your wand – yes, point it at the floor – and say _Serpensortia, _can you do that?"

"I – what does it do?"

"That sounds familiar," Harry whispered to Ron. "I've heard that somewhere before…"

"Ah," said Black. He had a roguish sort of grin on his face. "Half of dueling is the element of surprise. Now, concentrate and say, _Serpensortia_"

Parvati looked at Lavender, then stretched out her hand and pointed the tip of her wand at the floor just in front of Black. "_Serpensortia_"

An enormous golden snake seemed to burst from her wand like a spring being released; everyone shouted, and Neville jumped up onto the desk behind him. The snake wove its way around Black's feet and darted its tongue at his boots. "I've noticed several people in this castle seem to be afraid of snakes," Black said casually, watching the serpent slither off to the far corner of the room. Neville was still standing rigid on the desk with a look of terror on his face. "Therefore, this could make a very useful spell in a serious duel."

A duel, yes, that was where Harry had seen it before; it was the spell that Malfoy had used during the dueling club the previous year.

"Well, no wonder everyone's afraid of snakes!" Ron blurted out. Black tilted his head to look at him. "There was a bloody enormous one _Petrifying the school_ last year!"

"Yes," Black replied. "But this one is far from a basilisk, I believe. In fact, I'm not even sure that it's poisonous."

"You're not _sure_ it's poisonous? You're not _sure?_"

The snake turned from the corner and made its way down the aisle, its gilded scales gleaming in the light from the chandelier. It stopped at Harry's desk and flicked its tongue. _I don't want anything to do with these humans,_ it said. _I'm just hungry for a nice juicy rat._

"I don't think it's poisonous," Harry said.

_Not poisonous,_ the snake replied. _Just hungry._

"Ron, you left Scabbers back in the tower, didn't you?"

Black crouched down near Harry's desk to look at the snake. "Parvati, you wouldn't happen to want a new pet, would you?"

She looked horrified, her eyes wide. "Not a snake!"

"This illustrates my point exactly. This entire school, Slytherin House excluded, has had a particular terror of snakes ever since I was a student. I think you would all do well to capitalize on that fear in duels."

Hermione raised her hand; Black looked up, one of his fingers idly stroking the snake's back. "Hermione, was it?"

"Yes, Professor, and I was wondering – do you think we'll ever really _need_ to duel someone? Isn't learning about dueling just likely to cause a lot of trouble, if people get into quarrels?"

"Damn," Ron moaned. "She's going to ruin it…"

"I suppose that's a possibility," Black said. He looked, Harry thought, completely unworried by the thought – and by the snake, which was now sliding over his wrist. "Dueling is a valuable skill, though not without its drawbacks. Would anyone like this snake?"

Seamus Finnigan started to raise his hand but apparently thought better of it.

"All right. _Evanesco_" The snake disappeared, and Black stood. "Well, we've got more to cover this class. Neville, you can sit back down again. Now, let me see…_Locomotor Mortis_, the Leg-Locker Curse. Are you familiar with that spell, Neville?"

"Yes," murmured Neville, who had suffered it in their first year.

"It's not the most effective thing possible in a duel, but I think you've all had enough excitement for one class. Besides, it works well as both an impediment and a distraction. Go ahead and try it out, Neville."

Neville looked up, startled. "Me?"

"Yes, you," Black replied, smiling slightly.

"On – on who, sir?"

Black's quick gray eyes searched the room. "Well, as no one looks very eager to volunteer…go ahead and try it on me." When Neville hesitated, he added, "Yes, you heard me, go ahead," and braced himself against the wall.

Neville took his wand from his pocket and pointed it at Black's legs, looking as though he expected to be in trouble at any minute. "_Lo-Loco –_ "

"Start over, without the hesitation." Black leaned his head back, his long hair sliding on his shoulders. "A friend of mine stuttered once casting _Orchideous_ and instead of a bouquet of flowers ended up with a deformed porcupine, which didn't go over too well with the girl he fancied." Parvati and Lavender giggled again, Lavender leaning forward in her seat and smiling broadly.

"They really couldn't get more obvious, could they?" Hermione whispered to Harry in a disgruntled voice.

"_Locomotor Mortis!_"

Black's legs snapped sharply together, but a second later he was standing normally again. "Not bad for a first try. We'll practice the Leg-Locker Curse for the rest of class. Neville, you can partner with Ron; Hermione, go with – you, in the third row by the aisle – "

"Seamus Finnigan, sir."

"Thank you. You, next to him, you're Dean Thomas, aren't you? Yes, you can partner with Lavender, which leaves Harry and Parvati. All right, everyone find a bit of floor in the back and take turns trying to curse each other."

Seamus was not happy about being paired with Hermione; she continued to lock and re-lock his legs for the rest of the class, whereas he only managed to successfully curse her once towards the end. Ron and Neville each managed to lock each other's legs together twice. Dean and Lavender were both victorious more times than not, while Parvati seemed almost afraid to curse Harry.

"I'm not going to hold it against you, you know," he said after he'd caused her to fall over for the third time.

"All right, end of class!" Black called. "Please take a list of curses as you leave, I expect all of you to be able to successfully perform five of the fifteen by next class – yes, Dean, I'm going to be testing you – and I want you all to talk to me if you have substantial bruising, as I don't want Madam Pomfrey after my blood."

"Bit of a nutter about snakes, isn't he?" Ron said to Harry and Hermione as they headed down the corridor. "Maybe that's why he gets on with Hagrid, neither of them are too worried about students getting their heads bit off."

"I don't think it's that he isn't worried," Hermione said, stopping for a moment to rearrange her overflowing book bag. "I just think he's not more afraid of them than he is of anything else. I mean, it's a little silly when you think about it, isn't it? They're only snakes."

"I've got one word for you, Hermione," said Ron as they reached the stairs. "_Pipes._"


	10. Chapter 10

_Dinner that night._

"You won't believe this," Hermione said, dropping her books on the floor and taking the empty seat next to Ron. The rest of the Great Hall had been eating for the last five minutes.

"Buckbeak clawed Malfoy's arm again and now he's going to be called Nearly Armless Malfoy," Ron replied, watching Nearly Headless Nick conversing with Percy down at the other end of the table.

"I was up in the library and I spent hours searching – I even asked Madam Pince and she gave me a really suspicious look – but _all the books about blood magic are gone._"

Harry looked up from his cooked carrots.

"Maybe there's a paper about it assigned in a class," said Ron, shrugging. "They'll probably all be back again in a few weeks."

"Blood magic isn't the sort of thing that gets taught at Hogwarts, it's very old and very obscure! Doesn't it strike you as odd that every single book on the topic is missing from the library?" Hermione's face looked flushed and anxious.

"Maybe a professor needed to look at them."

"Oh, Ron!" she snapped. "Do you even care about any of this?"

"Yeah!" Ron protested. "I mean, I care about Harry not getting eaten by a werewolf, obviously – "

"Glad to hear that, Ron," said Harry.

" – but this bit about blood magic sounds like rubbish to me. I mean, it'd be one thing if Lupin actually had some of _Harry's_ blood, but what is writing in his own blood going to do? And if it was going to do anything, it should have done something by _now_, wouldn't you think? I reckon he's just a madman."

"As for 'wouldn't you think'," said Hermione, reaching for the pumpkin juice, "I don't _know_ what I think about blood magic, because I can't have an informed opinion, because _the books are all gone. _I think after dinner we ought to all go the library and look some more."

Ron groaned; Harry sighed, imagining a long evening spent with his neck craned to one side as he read titles off the spines of row after row of books.

"Well, fine," said Hermione indignantly. "I suppose I can just stay up nights worrying that Lupin's going to – "

"We'll go after dinner," Harry interrupted hastily, thinking of Hermione staying up until the early hours of the morning. Since school had started, he had begun to worry a bit about Hermione; there were dark circles under her eyes, and every night when Harry went up to bed she was still sitting in the common room, writing frantically on long scrolls of parchment and flipping the pages of enormous, leather-bound books. Her class load seemed to be impossibly full, but she ignored any objections about the amount of work she was doing.

The library, when they arrived after dinner, seemed to be filled with first-years, most of who were staring at the rows of shelves with looks of pure terror on their faces. Hermione spoke to one; it seemed that Snape had assigned them a foot-long essay on the uses of yarrow leaves, without ever having actually discussed yarrow leaves in class. As she began to rattle off the names and locations of the different sections of the library, Harry and Ron wandered towards the back.

"You know, I think this is where they keep the antique books," said Ron, looking at the shelves just in front of the Restricted Section. There was a musty smell so thick that Harry almost choked. "Ought to be the place to find something 'very old and very obscure', eh?"

He had no sooner reached out to touch one of the books when Madam Pince appeared seemingly from nowhere, a horrified expression on her face. "Weasley! Are you thinking of touching one of those books? Are you aware of the extreme value of every single volume on this shelf? Is there anything foul on your breath that might disintegrate a page?"

Ron looked extremely offended. "Gloves!" Pince shrieked, and whipped out two pairs of light lavender gloves from a pocket somewhere in her robes; she did it so quickly that Harry was not entirely sure that she had not conjured the gloves from midair. "Wear these gloves, both of you, and try to hold your breath while you read as much as you can. Do not laugh, do not lick your lips, do not blow your nose. If I find that there has been even the most minimal damage to any of these books, I will be most assuredly speaking to your Head of House and punishing you to the full extent of my power." With that she turned sharply on her heel and stalked off after some of the first-years, who had the misfortune of having been drenched by a book about the role of water in magical history.

Ron looked at the gloves disgustedly. "I think Lockhart might have left these behind. I'm not wearing the stupid things."

Harry winced at the color, but as he decided he did not need Pince speaking to McGonagall on top of everything else, said, "They're awful, but I think we'd better do it."

Ron rolled his eyes but complied.

The sole factor connecting the books in the shelf in front of the Restricted Section seemed to be that they were very old; Harry found a book about puffskeins next to the autobiography of a third-century witch called Ann Tediluvian. From several aisles ahead he could hear Hermione still talking to the first-years, who seemed to be in awe of her.

"Here, look at this," said Ron. "_Magic of Ancient Egypt._ Look, they've got an illustration of a cursed mummy with three arms, I saw one of those over the summer."

Harry looked; the mummy in the drawing had an extra arm coming out of its mouth. "Awful curse," Ron said. "They all starved to death because they couldn't get any food past the third arm." He set the book back on the shelf and looked at the one next to it.

As Harry stood on the tips of his toes to look at the top shelf, a very handsome boy stepped into the aisle. He looked to be at least a fifth-year; he had wavy brown hair that grazed the collar of his robe, the sort of hair that Harry thought girls must find very attractive. He looked away and began to search the top shelf again.

"Are you trying to get something down?" the boy asked. He was at least six inches taller than Harry; Harry hurriedly tugged off his gloves and shoved them in his pocket.

"Er, just that one," he said, jerking his thumb at a red book with _Hereditary Powers_ written on the spine in faded gold lettering. The boy reached up when –

"Diggory!" screamed Madam Pince, once again materializing with an almost frightening amount of speed. "Has this school reached the point where not even the prefects follow the rules of the library? I have already had to speak to Professor Sprout twice about Hufflepuff students – "

"I'm sorry, I've never been in this section before," Diggoy said, his eyes widening slightly. They were a very clear gray, Harry noticed.

"Gloves are required! Ask Potter if you can use his, provided that he still has them and has not – "

"I still have them," said Harry quickly, pulling them out of his pocket. Pince glared at him, her eyebrows raised, and walked away.

As Diggory reached for the gloves, Harry accidentally dropped them, biting the inside of his lip as he crouched down to pick them up. He failed to understand how Hermione could spend so many contented hours in this place.

"Sorry," he said to Diggory.

Diggory shrugged. "Can I borrow yours, then?" he asked Ron.

"You can if you want them," Ron replied, "but you might as well just take the book down, I sneezed on them."

Diggory took a quick look outside the aisle, and then reached up for the book. "Here you are," he said, handing it to Harry. Harry smiled slightly and reached out to take it.

As he grabbed the spine, one of his fingers brushed against Diggory's and with a sudden horror he realized that the nearly indescribable sensation he had felt after drinking Neville's potion was coming over him again. The musty smell of the books seemed to block out all of the clean air; the light overhead was too bright; the voices of the first-years sounded too high and before Harry could completely comprehend what was happening, he found himself covered in darkness again.

This time the darkness was not the unconscious deadening it had been before; Harry could smell a moldy sort of scent, and he could hear soft muffled noises on his right. Cautiously he took a step forward; his left hand bumped against something that felt like a glass bottle, and then he was inexplicably in the library again, next to Ron, who was leaning over to look at some books on a lower shelf. Diggory had gone.

"I think it's really awful of Snape to assign them something like that," Hermione said from behind him, coming into the aisle. "And I don't understand _why_ – I mean, I know he can act horribly, but it can't reflect well on him if most of his class is failing, can it? It's no good spending any time back here, I've looked through it already. The only shelves I haven't thoroughly searched are the ones by the east windows."


	11. Chapter 11

They didn't find anything in the shelves by the eastern windows, nor did they find anything in the shelves in front of Pince's desk, by the southern door, or near the statue of Bellerophon the Bibliophile, which were places Hermione had checked before but insisted they check again, in case she had missed something. By the time the library was about to close Harry's neck had gone all stiff from bending it at an angle to read the titles on the spines, and Ron, who had been given the job of carrying piles of books back and forth from the shelves to Hermione, was rubbing his arms. The first-years, however, went off happily, all with a book or two on the properties of yarrow leaves. Harry wished he had been so lucky.

He had not told Ron or Hermione about his second blackout; he had no idea what to make of it, and he had no desire to cause Hermione to worry more than she already was. He would have thought it was some aftereffect of the potion, if Neville's skills in the class hadn't been so abysmal. Could Neville have made a truly effective potion, even accidentally? Harry couldn't decide which was more possible, or rather, _im_possible: that Neville Longbottom could have produced something so powerful that it led to a loss of consciousness, or that Remus Lupin could be causing him to black out simply by writing his name in blood. Besides, he had the feeling that any wizard who could manage to work blood magic from Azkaban would probably do something more horrible than make him pass out.

"We have to get into the Restricted Section," said Hermione as they walked down the corridor on their way back to the Gryffindor tower. "It's the only place we haven't looked. Professor Black might give us a note, I think, if we came up with a good enough story, but we can't risk any of this getting back to the other teachers. I think we'll have to sneak in."

"I call keeping watch at the door," Ron said at once. "My arms are killing me. It's like someone took out the muscles and put in knotted rope, really old knotted rope that doesn't move easily."

"Sounds like my neck," Harry said. "Except that my neck's more like someone took out the muscles and put in small rocks."

"It can't be that awful," said Hermione, who could read vertically and had spent most of their time in the library sitting at a table and checking indexes. "Besides, I don't think anyone should keep watch at the door, we should all be either under the Invisibility Cloak or able to get under it at a second's notice. And we should do it tonight, before any more time goes by."

Back in the common room, Fred and George had stolen a book of Percy's and were running around with it as he chased them, shouting that he needed it back if he wanted to finish his History of Magic essay. Oliver Wood was sitting at a table near the fireplace; he was working on something that looked like a Quidditch diagram, and had put a very large and furry pair of earmuffs on his head.

"I feel dead," said Ron, flopping down on one of the couches. "Does anyone want to practice dueling curses on me? I'll do it as long as they don't hurt and as long as I can just sit here without having to do anything. You're carrying the books this time, Hermione."

One of the curses on the list was a Severing Charm called _Diffindo_, which worried Hermione enormously. "Does Black know how dangerous this could be? What if someone slices off someone else's leg?"

"You're taking this too seriously," said Ron, yawning. "No one's going to slice off anyone's leg. We're supposed to be learning Defense Against the Dark Arts, right? It sounds like a good spell to me, I'd rather know how to slice off some dark wizard's leg than send a snake at him."

"But how does he expect us to _practice_ it?"

"Maybe you ought to skip that one," Harry suggested. "We only have to be able to do five out of the fifteen for next class."

Hermione looked very anxious. "I was planning on learning all fifteen."

Ron snorted.

Another spell was called _Incarcerous_, and was used to make ropes come out of the air and wrap around someone. This one seemed satisfactory to Hermione, and she and Harry took turns sending ropes at Ron, who for his part sat on the couch and didn't complain when Harry accidentally got one of the ropes over his eyes.

"It would be harder in a real duel," said Hermione after several turns. "In a real duel, the other person is probably trying to get away…"

She glanced around the room, and then suddenly whipped out her wand, pointed it at Fred, and shouted, "INCARCEROUS!"

Fred, who had been running past a table with Percy's book, fell down on the floor, ropes enclosing his body. Percy walked over, snatched the book from his hand, and stormed up to his dormitory, muttering angrily about the strains on his concentration.

"Hey, what was that for?" asked Fred, when Hermione had Vanished the ropes. "I was nice to your cat about an hour ago, you know, it was walking around with some piece of paper in its mouth and I took it out so it wouldn't choke."

"Paper?"

"Yeah. It bit me, too, had to pry its bloody jaw open – "

"What did you do with the paper?"

"Threw it in the rubbish bin," said Fred, giving her an odd look. "Why, what was it?"

Hermione grabbed the rubbish bin next to the fireplace and began to take things out, including a banana peel and several used tissues. "I _thought_ so," she said, holding up a piece of paper with several took marks near the top. "It's Astrophil's love letter."

"_Love letter?_" asked George, a devilish smile twitching on his lips. "Some bloke called Astrophil sent you a love letter?"

"No, Crookshanks found it – " Hermione began, but George had already snatched the letter from her and began to read it aloud in a melodramatic voice.

"_I know you're going to laugh when you read this – "_

"Too right I am," said Fred.

" – _as it's not often that I get all sappy on you, but I really am going to miss holding you in my arms while we're apart."_

Fred threw his arms around Angelina Johnson, who was walking past. "Angelina! My love! I really am going to miss holding you in my arms while we're apart, my dearest, most precious darling!"

"I have no idea what you're on about," she said, shaking him off, and went to sit on one of the couches with Alicia Spinnet.

"Astrophil says to stop laughing, Fred," George informed him. He scanned the rest of the letter. "Who are Eris, Ares, and Tithonus, your pet bookworms?"

"I don't know," said Hermione, looking very angry, "because it isn't my letter. Crookshanks found it somewhere, and I kept it so I could give it back to whoever it belongs to if I ever figured it out."

"There's nobody called Astrophil in this school," said Fred. "There's Phil Carlowe in Ravenclaw, but his is short for Philip."

The bells rang; it was time for them all to get to bed. George shrugged, handed the letter back to Hermione, and went off upstairs with Fred and Lee Jordan.

"Probably another hour," Hermione said to Harry and Ron. "Hopefully everyone will be asleep by then."


	12. Chapter 12

Hogwarts at night could be an eerie place. It was at night, with the dark shadows against the walls and the echoing footsteps in the corridors, that Harry remembered the past secrets of the castle – the giant chess set miles beneath the school that had guarded the Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, perhaps even further underground, which for centuries had hidden a deadly basilisk beneath their feet. He thought of the dementors outside and tried to shake off the slight chill that caressed his spine.

"There's a book in the Restricted Section that screams," he whispered to Hermione. "Just so you know."

"You don't think there can be any really dangerous books there, do you?" she whispered in reply. "I mean, not books that tell you how to do dangerous things, books that are dangerous in and of themselves."

"Doubt it," said Ron, who seemed to have grown over the summer and was hunching his shoulders downward as they walked. "Dad confiscates them sometimes when he's at work. There aren't going to be any in a school library."

The door to the library was unlocked; they opened it slowly, listening for creaking hinges but hearing none. Silently, they crept past the seemingly endless rows of shelves until they reached the back, pulled off the cloak, and hesitantly stepped over the rope.

"All right," Hermione said quietly, "it doesn't look like anything is labeled in here. We're going to have to just take things off the shelves and look through the tables of contents and the indexes."

"If they have tables of contents and indexes," said Harry. "Some of them don't have titles."

He reached out and took down a scaly-covered book with a spine that was cracked in the middle and opened it. The lettering on the pages was in some unfamiliar language, but there were illustrations, of young witches in flowing dresses who had their throats split open. Swallowing, he paged through the rest of the book and found that it was all in the same graceful, foreign script.

The next book he tried was very small, about the size of a Chocolate Frog card, and had pictures of merrily smiling children on the cover. Harry looked at the first page and read:

_Hecate_ _built the fire high,_

_With oak, ash, thorn, and yew._

_Then she hacked the Muggle's brains_

_And put them in her stew._

With a morbid curiosity, he turned to the next page:

_The elf cleans the chimneys, the elf makes our bread,_

_The elf rocks the baby and smoothes down the bed._

_The elf brings the mulled wine, the elf sweeps the floor;_

_We'll strike the elf dead when he can work no more._

"I think I might have found something," said Ron; Harry shoved the ghastly little book back into the shelving and looked over at him.

Ron was holding a book that looked as though it were covered in something like red velvet. Looking near the top of the page, he read aloud, "'Though most of the modern fervor associated with pureblood elitism is due to fear and prejudice, the desire to keep one's family free from non-magical relations does have a basis in ancient theory. Several of the Dark Ages' leading magical scholars believed that the connections and magic of blood were more powerful than any other sort of magic found in the world, though none of them were ever able to prove their hypotheses. Satyrdoro the Sensuous is said to have wielded control over his forty-seven children by pricking their skin as they slept and keeping the blood to use in mysterious rituals.'"

Hermione looked over Ron's shoulder. "What is that book? Does it say any more?"

"_The Magic of the Body, Volume One_," Ron said. "That's all it says on blood magic that I can find. I don't see Volume Two anywhere."

Hermione glanced at Ron, and then at Harry. "Let's take it."

"Okay," he replied.

"I'm not sure it's going to help us," said Ron quickly. "It's talking about stuff with family and blood; this bloke Satyrdoro might have only been able to control his children because they were related. It doesn't say anything about being able to use blood magic on someone who isn't your family." He closed the book and turned to Harry. "Remus Lupin – he isn't your third cousin twice removed or anything, is he?"

Harry had never met a single relative of his other than the Dursleys; as far as he had ever known, they were his only family. Dudley had Aunt Marge and had had a grandmother in Dorset who had sent him enormously large boxes of sweets and stuffed animals until she died when he was perhaps six or so, but they were both on Uncle Vernon's side of the family and no blood relation to Harry. He had always assumed that if he had had other relations, the Dursleys would have assuredly given him to them, because no one could loathe his presence more than the Dursleys could.

And yet, now that he thought more about it, the Dursleys had always wanted to somehow take the magic out of him, to stamp it out and make him "normal". Maybe it had been worth it to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia to put up with him, as long as they had the possibility of raising him to be a regular Muggle without any hints of magic around him. He had never known anything about his father's side of the family, and had never spent much time wondering about them, except when he had had vague thoughts of a distant relative rescuing him when he was younger and when, last year, he had wondered if perhaps it was possible he was related to Salazar Slytherin. No one had ever said anything about his father being Muggle-born, like his mother. Were there wizard relatives somewhere who might have raised Harry, had the Dursleys allowed them?

Ron's question resurfaced in his mind and popped the brief sensation of hope that had risen in his chest. Perhaps there were wizard relatives somewhere who would have been more horrible to him than the Dursleys had ever been, or who would have killed him outright.

"I don't know," he said slowly. "I _think_ the Dursleys are my only family anywhere, but – it would be weird for me not to have any distant cousins or anything, wouldn't it? Don't most people have some distant family that they've never met?"

"I think most people do," said Ron. "I know I do. Besides the accountant cousin who no one ever talks about, I think one of my uncles said something once about Dad having a second cousin once removed or something like that who the Ministry had on trial for being a Death Eater, and I know I've never met him."

"You're related to Malfoy somehow, aren't you?"

"I think so," Ron said slowly. "I'm pretty sure I am, somewhere. I said that mostly to shut him up, but yeah…"

"There have to be books on it," said Hermione. "With people like Malfoy's family as fascinated with their bloodlines as they are, there has to be a book somewhere where you can look up how all the pureblood wizards are related."

Ron looked at her. "I bet you're happy that no one you're related to can use any blood magic on you."

"Well, it is an advantage," she replied. "The only dangerous person in my family I can think of is Aunt Emily, and that's because she hunts rabbits on the weekends and once accidentally shot my Uncle Cecil in the leg – "

There was a swift and heavy noise at the other end of the room; the door was being opened, and Harry heard a voice say, "We'll talk in here."

"Quick!" Hermione gasped under her breath. "Under the cloak!" She dove to the floor where they had dropped it and picked it up, throwing it over the three of them.

Harry could hear bits of conversation from the other end of the room, but the distance and Ron's heavy breathing made it difficult. " – just once, that's all I'm asking," he heard a second voice say. Both of the voices belonged to men. "If I could…once, that's all…dreams where I don't know if…"

"Let's move closer," Harry whispered to Hermione. "I want to hear what they're saying."

She bit her lip, and then nodded; they stepped out carefully over the rope and walked slowly, carefully down the main aisle.

Dumbledore and Black were standing near Madam Pince's desk; Dumbledore was wearing his slippers and a purple dressing gown over a white nightshirt, but Black was still wearing the same blue robe and leather boots that he had been wearing in class. "I know it can lead to obsessions," he said. "I don't _want_ an obsession, I want to get _rid_ of an obsession. You don't understand what it's like."

"No one can exactly understand what another feels," Dumbledore replied calmly, "but I do understand the burdens of a tormented mind."

Black sighed heavily. "Look," he said. "I keep having these dreams where I'm chasing someone, but I don't know who it is, or why I'm chasing him. It's one of the four, but I can never get close enough to see who it is. It's getting to the point where I don't even want to bloody sleep anymore, in case I have the dream again."

"Severus could make you a potion for a dreamless sleep," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not drinking anything he gives me," Black retorted. "I don't care if it's pumpkin juice and he drinks some himself first. And it isn't about the dream, really. The dream's only a symptom of the problem."

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them again. "This goes against my better judgement," he said, "but I have a feeling that you will find the mirror regardless of whether I lead you to it or not. You must promise me, Sirius – "

"I will," said Black immediately.

"You must promise me," Dumbledore said again, slowly, "that once you see it, you will not go looking for it again."

"I promise."

"Even if you think that what you see will have changed."

"I promise," said Black again; he seemed very impatient, and Harry thought he could see him shifting his weight back and forth from one foot to the other.

Dumbledore did not move.

"I think," he said slowly, "that if you could see the wildness in your eyes right now, it would frighten you more than you imagine."

Black stopped shifting and was still.

Dumbledore looked at him; it was a rather mournful sort of expression, Harry thought, as though Black had greatly disappointed him somehow. "Come with me," he said quietly, and the two of them turned to the door.

"Do we follow them?" Hermione whispered the moment that the door closed behind the two teachers.

"Yes!" replied Ron at once.

They managed to open the door again without being noticed; Dumbledore and Black were beginning to climb the staircase at the other end of the corridor, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed them as silently as they could. They reached the fifth floor, where Dumbledore opened a very thin door that Harry had always assumed to be the entrance to a broom cupboard. Harry wondered how three people were going to manage to get through the door together, but luckily Dumbledore left the door wide open and he was able to stand just outside it with Ron and Hermione.

The door did not lead to a broom cupboard, though the room it did lead to was around the size of one, if there was ever a broom cupboard that had such a high ceiling. The room was covered, floor and walls, with tile made of jet-black stone. It seemed to have nor furniture, or windows. In fact, it seemed to be empty, except for Dumbledore, Black, and, standing up against the wall opposite the door, the Mirror of Erised.

Black glanced at Dumbledore and then stepped forward to approach the mirror. Harry had a feeling that he should leave; Dumbledore had told him, in his first year, not to seek out the mirror again, but while his mind kept urging him to poke Ron and Hermione and gesture to the staircase, his body remained still.

Black kept staring at the mirror. He moved his head slightly as he looked, up and down and to the side at an angle, as though the mirror were showing him many things that he wanted to examine from all sides. The mirror seemed to radiate a faint light from its golden frame, which illuminated Black's face in the shadows; for the first time Harry saw that underneath his handsomeness there was a sort of desperate gauntness to his features.

"All right," he said abruptly, and turned away from the glass. "I saw it. I'll go."

Ron tugged on Harry and Hermione's shirts, but there was no need – they were already backing away from the door.

Dumbledore was the one who closed the door to the room; it had a keyhole, and Harry expected him to lock it, but Dumbledore did not take out a key. Black looked right at Harry and stared, which made his heart race, until he realized that he was standing right in front of the window.

"Good night, Sirius," Dumbledore said to Black. "I hope you will be able to have some restful sleep."

"I suppose you aren't going to ask me what I saw," Black replied, "because you figure that if I wanted you to know, I would have told you." He took a step forward. "Are you that sure you can trust me?"

"Good night, Sirius," Dumbledore said again, and walked off into the darkness.

Black stayed for a moment; he ran his fingers back through his hair, looked out the window a final time, and then turned towards the stairs and was gone.


	13. Chapter 13

"We've got to figure out what it all means," Hermione said the minute the three of them had climbed through the portrait hole again. "Teachers up in the middle of the night desperate to see the Mirror of Erised is definitely a bit suspicious."

"Hermione, he was with Dumbledore!" said Ron, looking astounded. "Dumbledore let him see the Mirror, and Black promised he wasn't going to look for it again, so what has any of it got to do with us?"

"You'd want to know more in a second if it were Snape instead of Black," she retorted.

"Well, of course I would, it would be Snape! So he wasn't after the Stone and he didn't have anything to do with the Chamber of Secrets, fine, but you can't tell me you would really think nothing was up if Snape wanted to see the Mirror of Erised. He'd probably want to find out if his deepest desire was to see Harry boiled or baked."

"Forget about Snape for a second," Hermione replied. She sat down on one of the armchairs by the cold fireplace. "What really worries me is the fact that Black wonders whether Dumbledore really trusts him. _You_ can't tell _me_ that it isn't somewhat worrying to you to have a teacher who Dumbledore might not trust."

"He let him see the Mirror, didn't he?" Ron shot Harry a desperate glance.

"Well," said Harry slowly, "there might be something to it – but maybe not." Ron and Hermione were both giving him pointed looks that clearly said they wanted him to be on their respective sides. "Maybe it's something that's not really that big of a deal."

"Like what?" Hermione asked. "I doubt Black's deepest desire is to get another flying motorbike." She stood up and began to pace. "Black wanted to see the Mirror of Erised, so it sounds like he didn't know what it was that he really wanted more than anything else. He had a dream where he was chasing a man or a boy, and he said something about knowing it was 'one of the four.' Dumbledore didn't ask him what that meant, so he must already know – "

"And if Dumbledore already knows, and Black's still here teaching tomorrow, then it isn't anything to worry about," Ron finished. "I thought finding out stuff about blood magic was supposed to be the important thing right now."

"It is, but this is – "

"Something Dumbledore knows about, and doesn't seem to care about." Ron yawned. "That's it, I'm going back to bed."

He and Harry wearily stumbled up the steps to the boys' dormitories while Hermione went up the other staircase. "She just doesn't like him because she doesn't know how to do all the homework he assigned," said Ron, and pulled the covers over his head.

Harry stayed awake a bit longer. He thought he could understand wanting to see the Mirror of Erised, if you didn't know what your deepest desire was, but wouldn't someone be able to have a general idea of what it was? Unless Black had several things he wanted, and he couldn't quite tell which one was the one he wanted the most…that would make sense. If there could only be one side to take, Ron's or Hermione's, Harry would be on Ron's side. There couldn't be anything particularly sinister happening right under Dumbledore's nose, especially not after the close calls in the past, and especially not from someone who didn't trust Snape. As far as Harry was concerned, he was bound to be on the opposite side from Snape in just about anything, and his enemy's enemy was his friend.


	14. Chapter 14

Black was indeed still at Hogwarts the next morning, and it didn't take most people long to decide that he was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor they had ever had – except for Percy, who insisted that the best teacher of the subject in recent memory had been an old witch called Professor Somna, who had retired after one year because of problems with narcolepsy, "but had a brilliant mind, very brilliant".

"For once, I almost agree with him," said George. "Somna was great. We invented an Eye-Oozing Ointment during one of her classes. Terrific stuff."

Dueling seemed to be the main focus of Black's lessons; in a little over two weeks, they had learned how to send opponents turning somersaults in midair, how to deflect a number of jinxes, and how to send torrents of water at other people. Contrary to what Hermione had thought, however, the lessons in dueling didn't lead to more fights and conflicts outside of classes. A long list of rumors about Black had started in the last several days, and though everyone liked him as a professor, his life before coming to Hogwarts to teach became a subject of gossip outside of classes.

"I heard he spent the last few years in East Africa, traveling around by himself and killing nundus," said Seamus, cutting up his fried eggs.

"He couldn't have," Hermione said at once. "Nundus have to be killed or captured by at least a hundred wizards working together."

"That's what I heard, anyway."

"I heard he was some sort of private Hit Wizard," said Lee Jordan. "Not one of the ones with the Ministry, one that individual people hired to track down and kill people. That's why he knows so much about dueling."

"I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't let a – "

"I heard he was engaged to a beautiful Italian witch named Apollonia," said Katie Bell. "Then she caught fwooper pox and died, so he locked himself inside his house and swore never to love again."

"He did not!" exclaimed Lavender, and immediately turned red.

Lavender and Parvati were still very fascinated by Professor Black. According to Hermione, they got up at six o'clock in the morning on the days when the Gryffindor third-years had Defense Against the Dark Arts, and spent all the time from then until breakfast fixing their hair and putting on makeup. "It's awful," she'd told Harry. "I can never sleep in because they're up at dawn giggling and sharing hair pins and spraying perfume everywhere. It's ridiculous. They could drink a gallon of beauty potion every morning and he would _still_ be a professor."

"I heard he was almost eaten once by a dragon," said Colin Creevey, bouncing slightly in his seat. "Imagine almost being eaten by a dragon! Do you think it's true, Harry?"

"No, Colin," said Harry, trying his best not to sound annoyed, "I don't."

"I bet Malfoy would love it if it was," muttered Ron. "Or, better yet, if the dragon had actually got him."

After gloating about his relation to Black, Malfoy, much to Harry's amusement, now utterly despised him and tried to distance himself from him in any way he could. "I'm not even entirely sure he's my mother's cousin," Harry had heard him tell Pansy Parkinson once before Potions class began. "He might be her cousin's cousin. On the other side of the family, you know. Not even really a relation."

Potions lessons had become worse than they had ever been. Since the incident with Neville's potion, Harry and Neville were no longer allowed to share a table or, indeed, to speak to each other at all during class. Neville managed to get a table with Hermione once, but the rest of the time he ended up alone or having to share with one of the Slytherins, including, during one disastrous lesson, Goyle.

"I'm going to fail this class," said Neville miserably as they walked out of the dungeons; Goyle had dropped something heavily into his cauldron and splashed Shrinking Solution all over Neville's notes and quill. "And if I fail it, I'll have to do third year over again. My gran will murder me."

"You're good at Herbology," Harry said, trying desperately to think of some way to help. "What is it about Herbology that makes you good at it?"

"There's no Snape," said Neville.

"Feel awful for him," said Ron as they watched Neville walk down the corridor. "I'd try to help him out if I could, but it's not like I'm great at Potions. Hey, Hermione, d'you think you – "

He turned around and blinked. Hermione was gone.

"She was just here a minute ago!" Ron said. "_Weird._"

"Maybe she went to go look at that book some more," Harry suggested.

Hermione had spent a great deal of time in the common room in the evenings reading _The Magic of the Body, Volume One,_ her eyes fixed on the pages as the other Gryffindors talked and laughed all around her. After three days, Oliver Wood had felt sorry enough for her to loan her his pair of large furry earmuffs. "Why don't you read it in the library?" Harry had asked her.

"I can't risk Pince seeing what book it is," she said, and clamped the furry earmuffs on her head once more.

"She's going to go mental," Ron said. "All those classes, and this thing with blood magic – not to mention the fact that she has to keep her deranged cat controlled – maybe she should just quit with the blood magic thing. I mean, nothing's happened to you, has it?"

"No, nothing," said Harry, but the memory of something that had occurred a couple of days ago came to his mind.

He had been walking down the Charms corridor when a notebook had slid across the floor right in front of his feet; he had bent over and picked it up, standing up to see a very pretty girl with long black hair next to him.

"Thanks, that's mine," she said, reaching out to take the notebook from him. "Someone bumped into me by accident and it got jolted out of my bag." As she took the notebook, someone had bumped into her again, shoving her forward, crushing her hand against Harry's chest and causing her head to collide with his neck.

A scene appeared in Harry's head like a vision: he saw Professor McGonagall in her classroom, gazing sternly. "You're late again, Miss Chang," she said, and then suddenly the scene vanished and Harry was in the Charms corridor again.

"Stop it, Roger, it isn't funny," said the black-haired girl to a boy who was grinning at her over his shoulder as he walked away. She turned back to Harry. "I'm sorry."

"It isn't your fault," he muttered. He could still feel where her hand had been on his chest.

"You're going to be late for class, Cho!" called someone from the other end of the corridor.

"Thanks," she said again, and ran off.

If something odd like that happened one more time, he told himself now as he and Ron reached the staircase, he'd tell Ron and Hermione. Perhaps it was some sort of magical ailment that Hermione would know about, and there was an easy way to cure it – whatever it was. An uneasy feeling nagged at him. Nothing that had ever happened to him, it seemed, could be fixed easily.


	15. Chapter 15

_Everyone else is going to Hogsmeade on Halloween but Harry._

"You sure you don't want to sneak out with your dad's cloak?" Ron asked again, shoveling the last of his pancakes into his mouth. "I know dementors can see through them, but it's not like the dementors are going to attack Honeydukes, right?"

"No thanks," said Harry. "They'd probably think I was someone suspicious because of the cloak. I'll be okay, really." He had no idea what he was going to do for the entire day while everyone else was off eating sweets and buying jokes, except perhaps take a nap. It had been weeks since they'd snuck into the library in the middle of the night, but Wood's fanatically strenuous Quidditch practices were beginning to wear on him. "Bring me back a few Chocolate Frogs, okay?"

"We'll bring you back all of Honeydukes," said Hermione, her voice straining to sound cheerful. Harry could tell she felt a great deal of pity for him.

Malfoy was in the entrance hall, waiting in line for Filch to check off his name on the list of students allowed to visit the village. "Oy, Potter! Staying away from the big scary dementors?"

"Have fun," Harry said to Ron and Hermione, and was about to turn around and go back upstairs, when the other half of the double doors opened.

At first it looked to Harry like a stack of cardboard boxes with gnarled feet was walking into the entrance hall, but as the boxes walked past him, he saw that they were being carried by a very old house-elf, who was muttering under his breath and gritting his teeth as he stared at the line of students. "Master makes Kreacher carry boxes for blood traitor and Mudblood brats, Kreacher's mistress would cry if she knew…" Harry caught as the elf walked by. He was followed by Professor Black, out of breath and carrying a large battered wooden box that seemed incongruous with his elegant blue robes.

"Oh!" said Parvati, who was in line just ahead of Ron and Hermione, "is this your house-elf, Professor?"

"Yes, this is Kreacher," said Black offhandedly. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Kreacher, be polite and say hello."

The elf held the boxes stretched out ahead of him and somehow managed to bow. "Kreacher greets young miss," he said in a low, croaking voice, and added, in an undertone, "whoever she is, is she a Mudblood, Kreacher does not know – "

"That's quite enough," Black snapped. "Go upstairs and wait for me in my office."

The box seemed to be about to slip in his hands. "Professor," Harry said hesitantly, "do you want any help carrying that?"

"That would be great," Black replied. There was a slight gasp in his voice. Harry reached out and grabbed one of the side handles; together he and Black lowered it slightly so they could both take a handle and carry it up the stairs. Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione and shrugged.

"What's in this, anyway?" Harry asked as they reached the first floor.

"Dark artifacts," said Black. "We're going to have a unit on identifying and destroying them once we finish with dueling next week. Hopefully there are enough between this box and the boxes Kreacher's carrying to go around."

"Dark artifacts?" Harry asked. "Is that – safe to teach to third-years?"

"Oh, I think so," Black said. "It depends on the size and the power of the artifact. Besides, it's really about time I cleaned out my attic."

Before Harry had time to decide what he made of the last sentence, they had reached Black's office, where Kreacher was beginning to open the smallest of the boxes, his long snout sniffling as his fingers pried back the cardboard. Black hurriedly set down the wooden box. "Kreacher, don't touch that!"

"Kreacher must do as Master says," said the elf, tugging on one of his hairy ears and bowing low to the ground. Then, as he had done with Parvati in the entrance hall, he continued to speak in a lower voice as though they could not hear them: "But he does not want to, what would Kreacher's mistress say, Master is a bad wizard to take her things and plan to destroy them – "

"They don't belong to her anymore, Kreacher," said Black, folding his arms over his chest and staring down at the elf, who looked back at him with watery, bloodshot eyes. "They're mine, along with the house, and I don't want to hear another word today about 'Kreacher's mistress.'"

Harry thought he was beginning to grasp what the situation was. He noticed a picture of a little girl with dark hair on the wall behind Black's desk; she and Black had similar mouths and her nose was a smaller, more feminine version of his.

"Now go home," Black said to Kreacher. "I'll tell you when I need you." Kreacher glared at him, made one last ironic bow, and disappeared with a crack.

Black shut the box that Kreacher had begun to open. "I'm sorry about him. I've tried to stop him from being such a nasty little piece of work, but he's been trained that way for almost his entire life."

"Did he belong to your wife's family, then?" Harry asked.

Black gave him an odd look. "What?"

"Well, your ex-wife, I mean."

"I've never been married – oh! Oh, because of 'Kreacher's mistress.'" Black ran one long-fingered hand through his hair and sat down in one of the red velvety armchairs he had in front of his desk. "He's talking about my mother."

"Oh," Harry mumbled, feeling rather embarrassed. Now that he thought about it, really, the little girl in the photograph could be loads of people besides Black's daughter, perhaps not even family.

"That's all right." Black gestured to the second armchair; Harry sat. "My mother and I were sort of divorced in a way, we were estranged. The only reason I ended up with anything when she died – well, it's a bit complicated, but basically I was the only one she could give it to. You're lucky that she never made an official will – "

"Me?"

"Yes, you, because if she had, she almost certainly would have left everything to Draco Malfoy's mother."

Harry imagined Malfoy with an attic full of dark artifacts and control over a venomous muttering elf, and shivered slightly. Black smiled. "So his mum really is your cousin?" Harry asked.

"Yes, she is. Which is probably the only true rumor you've heard about me." The corners of his mouth were twitching. "Well, I won't keep you any longer, you'll want to catch up with your friends."

"They're in Hogsmeade," Harry said. "I can't go."

Black looked surprised. "Why not?"

"My uncle – he's a Muggle – he wouldn't sign my permission form."

"Oh." The surprised look shifted to thoughtful and his eyebrows furrowed. "Oh," he said again, and then stood up, walking behind his desk and crouching down to open a bottom drawer. "In that case, I don't suppose you'd like to join me while I taken a moment to have a bottle of cold butterbeer?"

"Sure," Harry replied; he felt pleased with this turn of events. In Black's sunny office with its comfortable chairs and very ordinary-looking papers and quills on the desk, it was easy to dismiss Hermione's concerns about him, not that Harry had had very many in the first place. "What's butterbeer, sir?"

"It's sort of like cold liquid butterscotch with bubbles – well, it can be warm, too, but I think it tastes rather disgusting that way." He stood up again, holding two glass bottles of golden liquid by their necks. "Most people drink it when they go to Hogsmeade, so at least you'll have one thing you didn't miss."

The butterbeer was very chilled, and tasted like what Harry imagined butterscotch candies tasted like; he'd never actually eaten one, as the Dursleys had never allowed him to have any sweets. "So," he said, after a couple of sips, "it isn't true that you traveled around East Africa killing nundus?"

"Well, maybe there are one and a half true rumors about me," said Black. "I did travel around East Africa for a number of years; the rest of Africa too, and a few parts of Asia. I was working collecting ingredients for an apothecary. No nundus, though I did have to kill and skin a number of boomslangs."

"Did Kreacher come with you?" Harry asked, having a sudden image of Kreacher muttering through the African grasslands.

"No, Kreacher stayed at home. I try not to use Kreacher for anything I don't absolutely need him for; I'd free him and be done with him, if it weren't for the nagging feeling I have that I'd be loosing a menace on an unsuspecting world." He tipped his head back and swallowed around one-third of his bottle of butterbeer. "Besides, he'd probably go to work for Narcissa – that's Malfoy's mother."

They sat in silence for a moment, until Harry asked, "What sorts of things are in those boxes?"

"Things that look completely ordinary, mostly," Black replied, "and that's the problem with them. They aren't like dementors; the danger doesn't come at you right away, necessarily. That reminds me, I've been meaning to talk to you about the dementors."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"There isn't anything weak about you because of how strongly they affect you," said Black. His voice had dropped to a lower, gentler tone. "That's the way that they affect most everyone who's had terrors and traumas in their past. What they do is force a person to remember their worst experiences – that's why they guard Azkaban. The Ministry thought that having to relive every painful memory in a person's life was a fitting punishment for criminals. There are ways to fight them, but – "

"Could you teach me?" Harry asked eagerly, imagining himself flinging spells at the dementors and watching them crumple to the ground.

"Yes, I could," said Black. "It would require work outside of class, though; I have a feeling it will be a much longer process than something that can be accomplished in a few weeks."

"I don't care," said Harry. "I just want to be able to do something to stop them."

Black rose from his seat. "Tell me next class when you've got the time to do it. I don't want complaints that this is cutting into too much of your time from any of your professors – or from Oliver Wood, for that matter," he added, and grinned. Harry smiled back; his mind was full of vanquished dementors. "Now I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave, I'm going to unpack the artifacts and several of them can be particularly nasty."

"Okay," Harry replied. "Thanks, Professor." He left the office and practically leaped up the stairs to the Gryffindor Tower, feeling more free and hopeful than he had in weeks.


	16. Chapter 16

_Harry is sitting in the common room shortly before the Halloween feast; Ron and Hermione have just returned from Hogsmeade._

"We've got some really great news," said Hermione, unwinding her scarf from around her face; she looked happier and less weary than she had for the last couple of weeks, Harry noticed.

"Yeah, we got you loads of sweets," said Ron, producing a purple-and-green striped bag from the pocket of his coat. "There was a sale on Chocoballs and Ice Mice – "

"Not that, Ron!" Hermione said, rolling her eyes. She sat down next to Harry as he took the bag from Ron. "We were in this bookshop – "

"Oh, yeah, right!" said Ron, his face brightening.

" – and we found these books on wizarding genealogy. I looked up Lupin in the index, he isn't related to you whatsoever. His father's side of the family has only been magical for five generations and his mother is a Muggle. I read through his whole family tree and there's no one named Potter. Then I thought perhaps I could find something on blood magic, so I had to spend nearly ten minutes convincing this old wizard that I wanted to know for purely theoretical reasons. They keep the books on blood magic in the basement with a chain across the door. When I finally got down there, I found this really excellent book, so I read at least four chapters of it in the shop – "

" – and the old git wouldn't let me go down," Ron interjected. "He said that my hands were too sweaty or some rubbish. Has Pince got a brother, do you think?"

Hermione plowed ahead. " – and it said that although it's definitely possible to work blood magic on someone who isn't a relative, it requires all these herbs and sacrifices and brewing, depending on what you're trying to do – the herbs are for if – "

"Get to the point, Hermione," said Ron.

"You can't do blood magic just by writing someone's name in your own blood," Hermione finished triumphantly. "You can't even do blood magic by writing someone's name in _their_ own blood. You need all sorts of things Lupin wouldn't have been able to get in Azkaban, and most importantly, you need the blood of the person you want to work the magic on. He hasn't got your blood; he isn't working blood magic on you."

Something heavy in Harry's stomach lifted; between this and the knowledge that Black was going to help him fight the dementors, he thought this must be the best day he'd had in a long time.

"Great," he said, grinning at Ron and Hermione. "Brilliant. Come on, I think the feast is starting soon."

"Lupin must be a right nutter," said Ron as they joined the throng of students in the corridors. "D'you think he thought he was really doing blood magic?"

"I don't care," Harry replied. "I don't care if he thought he was conjuring an army of boomslangs. Oh, that reminds me – " He told Ron and Hermione about Black, Kreacher, the dark artifacts, and the dementors.

"I _knew_ it wasn't true that he was a Hit Wizard," said Ron. "Wait till I tell Fred and George – "

"Don't," said Hermione sharply. They had arrived at the Great Hall. "People believing the rumors about him is probably the only reason why half the school isn't in the hospital wing from dueling."

"We're nearly done with dueling, anyway," Harry said. "We're starting – "

"I can't _believe_ he's letting us do dark artifacts. Does Dumbledore know – "

"What does it matter to you?" Ron asked, a note of irritation in his voice as he sat down at the Gryffindor table. "You don't care that Dumbledore knows about Black and the – "

"Quiet!" Harry hissed; at the name "Black", Lavender and Parvati had looked over, interested.

"That elf of his is sort of…strange, isn't it?" said Parvati.

"It's not Black's fault," Harry replied at once; he felt protective of Black suddenly, more protective than he had been about Hermione's criticisms of him. "He belonged to Black's mum before, she's the one who made him such a little git."

"Did you talk to Black a lot, then?" Lavender asked; sitting on the other side of the table from Harry, she leaned so far forward towards him that her hair almost fell into the pudding.

"Sort of." It wasn't as though Harry usually spent a lot of time talking to Lavender, but for some reason he found himself particularly loath to tell her about Black. "I just carried the boxes with him, mostly. He says we're going to learn how to destroy dark artifacts."

"Oh!" Parvati exclaimed. "That'll be so exciting. I just hope I'm good at it. Professor Black told me after our first class that I have a particular talent for conjuring things."

"He told me I was really fast in learning counterjinxes," said Lavender immediately, apparently not wanting to be outdone.

"Do you know if destroying dark artifacts has anything to do with exploding things?" asked Dean, who was sitting between Parvati and Seamus. "Because he told me I was good with those little explosions we learned with dueling."

Everyone, it seemed, had been told by Professor Black that they were talented in one thing or another; even Neville had been complimented on his ability to shoot streams of water from his wand. Only Hermione was silent.

Overall it was an excellent feast, the cheerful mood only briefly interrupted when Lavender began to cry over the roast rabbit. Harry's free and light feeling from the two pieces of good news he'd had that day stayed with him; he felt untouchable, beyond any harm, as though he were on his broom and flying high above the stormclouds below him. The dementors were on the other side of the stone walls and Lupin was even further. There was a Quidditch match against Slytherin coming up, where he would assuredly beat Malfoy, he'd learn how to destroy dark artifacts, and if things in Potions were still going miserably, well, that wasn't anything he hadn't dealt with before…

He wandered back up to the Gryffindor Tower with Ron and Hermione, yawning as he half-listened to them bicker about Scabbers and Crookshanks. It had really been a good weekend, even without going to Hogsmeade.

Several steps away from the portrait hole they stopped; the corridor was packed with students, the closest of whom were trying to look over heads and around shoulders to see what was going on.

"I bet they've changed the bloody password again," groaned Ron. He stood on the tips of his toes and peered over the top of Fred and George's heads. "I don't see the Fat Lady…of all the times for her to be off visiting another painting…"

"Excuse me, _excuse_ me!" Harry heard a familiar pompous voice shout. He turned his head to feel Percy's hand collided with the side of his face as Percy tried to push his way through the crowd. "Oh, I'm sorry, Harry…let me through, all of you, why are we all waiting here? I'm Head Boy, let me through, excuse me…"

Percy made his way to the portrait hole; as he stopped in front of it the chatter died down until the corridor was eerily silent.

Percy's voice broke the uncomfortable stillness. "One of you, go get Professor Dumbledore. Go."

It seemed almost no time at all before Dumbledore had appeared, rushing toward the portrait through the path the Gryffindors hurriedly cleared for him. Harry looked down the empty space and saw what he had not been able to see before.

The Fat Lady had gone; on the bare canvass were four long scratches, evenly spaced and deep. Another set of scratches had torn part of the frame, leaving splinters of wood on the floor. There was a small pool of blood on the floor, no bigger than a Sickle coin.

There was something golden and gleaming as well, next to the blood and among the splinters. Dumbledore reached down and picked it up.

It was a goblet, bright and tall, with small dark stones around the base. A faint trail of smoke drifted from the empty bowl.


	17. Chapter 17

_All the students have been crowded into the Great Hall while the teachers try to discover what has happened_.

"All right, here's mine," said Lee. "The goblet had some sort of poisonous fog in it. The Fat Lady wouldn't let him into the tower, so Lupin dropped the goblet and ran before the fog could kill him. By the time we got back the fog had mostly disappeared, except for the bit that came out when Dumbledore picked it up."

"So why isn't Dumbledore dead?" asked Angelina.

"He's Dumbledore. He's the greatest wizard of all time."

"Why would Lupin want to set poisonous fog on the Gryffindor Tower in the first place?" scoffed a tall boy with wiry hair whose name Harry didn't know.

"He's a Death Eater, isn't he? Doesn't need an excuse. Or maybe You-Know-Who's found him since he escaped and told him – "

"Oh, don't!" Ginny whimpered.

"No one is to upset Ginny," said Percy in his best pompous voice.

"I've got one," Alicia Spinnet said. "The goblet had some potion in it that gives Lupin the ability to get past dementors. He drank some to get in and he was just drinking some to get out…"

"What's a Death Eater?" Harry asked Ron as Seamus started dissecting Alicia's theory. "You said before in the library that your dad's cousin or someone had been on trial for being a Death Eater."

Ron gave him a funny look. "You really don't know what a Death Eater is?"

"Obviously not, if I'm asking you," said Harry irritably. The elated feeling he'd had all throughout the feast had crashed into the pit of his stomach.

"They're You-Know-Who's followers," said Ron. "Quirrell and Malfoy's dad and Lupin and all the rest of them."

"Your dad's cousin got off, though, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he got off. I don't really know a lot about it – it's one of the more distant cousins I've never met."

"All right," said George, "best of them all. The goblet was full of Essence of Prat. Lupin came to give some to Percy, but when the Fat Lady told him Percy was already the world's biggest prat, Lupin attacked her portrait and cut himself in despair – "

Fred and Ron burst out laughing, along with a couple of other boys Harry thought might be in Percy's year. Percy was facing the opposite direction and watching the doors to make sure no one left the Great Hall, but it was still apparent that his ears were turning bright red.

"George," said Wood, "do you want us to beat Slytherin in Quidditch?"

"No, Oliver, he wants Slytherin to win by five hundred points," said Fred.

"Shut up. I'm trying to figure out this diagram and you're getting on my nerves."

This was unusual for Wood, Harry thought; he usually was an expert at ignoring the noise around him.

"Are we even sure it _is_ Lupin?" Hermione asked. "I mean, it seems likely, but we shouldn't rule out the possibility that it could be someone else."

"Hermione, we haven't got to rule out or keep in any possibilities," said Fred, lying back on his squashy purple sleeping bag. "We just get to sit here and let the professors figure it out. Besides, who else could it be? That Astrophil bloke didn't sound like he was _that_ desperate to see you – "

"I told you," said Hermione, through gritted teeth, "that those _weren't sent to me."_

"All right, they weren't sent to you," said George. "Stop doing that to your teeth, your parents'll do their nut when they find out."

It was getting rather late, and the noise was beginning to soften around them; most of the first-years had fallen asleep, some before they had even made it into their sleeping bags. Hermione was the first of those around Harry to nod off, followed by Neville a minute later. Harry decided he had better go to bed as well, and he fell asleep half-listening to Wood saying something to Percy and Percy's muttered reply.

He woke to almost complete darkness, the only light coming from Dean Thomas's glow-in-the-dark watch across the aisle. Harry fumbled for his glasses and squinted. It was three o'clock in the morning.

" – ghost on the sixth floor saw him run by. The only sign found was a small trail of dripping blood on the railing of the stairs to the Gryffindor Tower."

The voice was Snape's; Harry immediately feigned sleep and hoped that the potions master had not seen him pick up his glasses.

"Very good, Severus. This leaves us with little to fear at the moment but still no answers, I'm afraid. I don't suppose you've had time to analyze the contents of the – "

"It had a residue of Wolfsbane, Headmaster," Snape replied at once. "I'm sure you remember that Lupin was an atrocious brewer of potions – "

"I think 'atrocious' is perhaps taking it a bit far, Severus," said Dumbledore. "Not talented, surely, but his O.W.L. work was acceptable, even if he decided not to go on to – "

Snape's voice was impatient. "He did not and most likely still does not possess the skill to brew the Wolfsbane Potion, and, what's more, its invention took place during his time in Azkaban. Therefore, Headmaster, I _think_ you will agree that the only way for Lupin to obtain a goblet of it would be if – "

Harry heard a few steps, and when Dumbledore spoke again his voice seemed closer. "There are many, many ways Remus Lupin could have managed to acquire the Wolfsbane Potion. I fully trust that no one employed in this castle would help him to do so, or help him to come inside the school."

"The age and decoration of the goblet mark it as one found in only the wealthiest of – "

"Severus." Dumbledore's voice had softened. "This has been a very long night and I think it would be best if we saved this discussion until the morning."

The Great Hall was silent except for Neville's quiet snores. "Very well," said Snape at last. "Should we bring the students back to their dormitories?"

"No, no, let them sleep. They've had too much excitement for the moment. Good night, Severus."

Dumbledore had not allowed Snape to finish his opinion, but Snape's meaning was still clear to Harry: he believed Black had helped Lupin. Harry turned to one side to see Ron and to the other side to Hermione, but both were sound asleep. He rolled over on his back and closed his eyes.

Just as his body was about to resign itself to slumber, Harry realized something. Aside from the first blackout in Potions class, the rest had been caused by touching someone's skin, Diggory's finger or the black-haired girl's head. Yet when Percy's hand had accidentally smacked against the side of Harry's face, everything had been normal. He sat up hesitantly and looked at Ron; quickly and lightly, he tapped Ron's ear with the tip of one finger. Nothing happened.


	18. Chapter 18

_The next morning at breakfast._

Hermione listened, yawning, to Harry's newfound knowledge the next morning. "You're right, it does sound like he suspects Black. Still, we ought to remember that it could be someone else he's talking about."

"Oh, come off it, Hermione," said Ron, who had got Scabbers from the Gryffindor Tower and was feeding him little bits of sausage. "Who else is it going to be? Snape thinks it's someone who's good with potions – Black. He thinks it's someone who's rich enough to own that goblet – Black. Besides, Snape hates him, do you think he's going to pass up an opportunity to try and get Black into trouble with Dumbledore?"

"I'm just saying," Hermione replied, "that we shouldn't assume we know things unless we really do know them. Besides, how well do we really know Black?" She looked first at Harry, then at Ron.

Harry stared back. "You're joking."

"No, I'm not."

"You don't _really_ think that Black would have – "

"I just think that we shouldn't assume he's everything he seems to be," she replied. "That whole thing with the Mirror of Erised still feels suspicious to me – "

"You know what your problem is?" asked Ron. "You don't like him because he doesn't spend half his classes going on about how brilliant you are."

"_What?_ I can't believe you'd think – "

"Last night at the feast, when everyone was talking about what he said they were good at? You didn't say anything. Plus you're still shirty because you don't think he should have taught us dueling."

"Ron, that is not – that has nothing to do with anything!" Hermione exclaimed.

"He's our best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher yet and all you can do is make up rubbish about how he's secretly out to get Harry or letting Lupin into the castle or something. Bit rich, coming from someone who thought Lockhart was the greatest – "

"Well, it's a bit rich for you to be defending Black, you were the one who said that the darkest thing he'd ever battled was probably a spot!"

Harry desperately wanted to step in and get them to calm down, but he knew that he'd have to be fair to both sides if he did, and he was definitely on Ron's side. Hermione was very clever and he was grateful to her for helping him find out about blood magic, but he thought her suspicions of Black were off-base. So far he had been nothing but helpful to Harry, and as much as Harry didn't like to admit it, he thought Ron might have a point about Black not gushing over Hermione during classes.

Before Harry could come up with a solution, Professor McGonagall came up to the table and rested her hand on the back of his chair. "Potter, there's something I'd like to talk with you about."

"All right," he said, nervously rising from his chair.

Once in her office, Professor McGonagall sat down behind her desk and looked at him very solemnly. "This news may be shocking or frightening to you, Potter, but it is in your best interests to know that Remus Lupin – "

"Is coming after me," Harry finished. "I know. I heard Ron's parents talking about it during the summer."

McGonagall blinked rapidly behind her square spectacles. "Oh."

Harry looked at her desk, unsure of what else to say.

"Well, in light of the recent events," she said, folding her hands in front of her, "I'm afraid that even though you are now allowed to go to Hogsmeade – "

"What?" Harry looked up quickly. "But before I couldn't – "

"There was a chance in circumstances," said McGonagall crisply. "However, I must insist that you still remain in the castle while your classmates visit the village. I'm sorry, Potter. Hopefully Lupin will be captured soon and the restriction will be lifted."

Very confused, Harry returned to breakfast.

He had very little time to think about Hogsmeade or Black or Ron and Hermione's quarrel, however; there was less than a week until the first Quidditch match and Wood insisted that the team practice at every possible moment. When they were unable to actually be on the pitch, he followed them around the common room with more diagrams and very specific notes detailing the usual methods of each of the players on the Slytherin team.

"At least our notes are short," said George one evening. "Strategy of the Slytherin beaters: destroy all in your path."

Harry barely heard him. He was looking through the section of his Defense Against the Dark Arts book that covered dark artifacts and trying to figure out how he could best destroy the object Black had assigned him, a rather sinister-looking stained handkerchief with the initials "W. B. B." stitched on one corner.

Wood arrived at the least team practice before the match carrying seven rolls of parchment in his arms, which he quickly began to hand out.

"Not again, Oliver," Fred moaned. "Look, I already know everything Bole and Derrick are going to try – "

"It doesn't matter!" Wood shouted. There was a half-mad look on his face. "I just ran into Flint on the stairs. We aren't playing Slytherin, we're going to play Hufflepuff. Flint says Malfoy's arm hurts too much for him to play."

"I bet I could make his arm _really_ hurt," said Harry, gritting his teeth.

"Hufflepuff's a lot better than they were last year!" said Wood frantically. "Now that Tatting's left, they've got Cedric Diggory as a Seeker, and he's _good_, Harry, he's really good. I know you can beat him, but it's going to be tougher than beating Malfoy. Plus he's their captain, so we have to watch out for strategy – "

"What are you worrying about strategy for?" George asked. "Isn't Cedric Diggory that thick one – "

"You can't assume he's thick!" shouted Wood. "If you do, you'll underestimate him! We can't underestimate anyone! We have to be aware of every possibility! _We have to win!_"

Ron and Hermione were maintaining a cautious distance from each other; Ron's comment about Black not gushing over Hermione had prompted her to work even harder in Defense Against the Dark Arts, taking so many notes that Harry was worried she would sprain something in her wrist. "Look, just forget what Ron said," he told her one evening when Ron was talking to Fred and George on the other side of the common room. "You're doing great in Defense Against the Dark Arts. If Black hasn't noticed, he's an idiot. You don't have anything to worry about."

"I haven't spent enough time on his class," said Hermione desperately, underlining portions of her notes. "First I was concentrating on Arithmancy, but then I fell behind in Muggle Studies, and once I caught up there I realized I hadn't done enough work on my dark artifact – "

"I still don't understand how you're managing to take all these classes," said Harry.

"Oh, Harry, it's fine," Hermione said, dismissively waving her hand.

Fortunately, Hermione's extra work paid off; on the day before the Quidditch match, she successfully destroyed a cursed quill, blasting it into harmless shreds of feather. Black looked impressed.

"Well done, Hermione!" he said, making a mark in his grade book. "You could have done it with less effort, but this shows an advanced level of magic…very good work, very good."

Hermione beamed.

"If she thinks he's secretly evil," Ron whispered to Harry, "why does she care what he thinks about her?"

Harry was about to answer, but at that moment he heard the hinges of the door to the classroom screech. He turned; Snape was standing in the doorway, his mouth twisted and his hands flexing as though he would like to wrap them around someone's neck.

"Hello, Severus," said Black lightly, setting down his grade book on one of the tables. Neville, Harry noticed, had turned very white. "What can I do for you?"

The corner of Snape's lips twitched. "This morning," he said, his eyebrows narrowed, "I made the unfortunate discovery that some of the herbs from my private stores have disappeared entirely. Since other such incidents have occurred in the past – " he paused and gave Harry a very nasty look " – I took the precaution this year of casting a series of complex spells on the lock. Spells which would require the ability of a fully trained wizard to get past them."

"I take it you've reordered?" asked Black. "I can lend you a few of mine until the new ones arrive. Well, except for belladonna, I've just run out."

"I shall not require your help," said Snape icily. He gave Black one final glare and left, slamming the door loudly behind him.


	19. Chapter 19

_On the day of the Quidditch match, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walk down to the pitch._

"You're going to be fine, Harry!" Ron yelled over the sound of the strong wind. The rain was pouring down in great sheets. Even though they had only left the castle a minute ago, all three of them were soaked through. "It's bloody awful rain, but Diggory's not going to do any better in it than you are."

"What?" shouted Harry, who had heard less than half of what Ron had said.

"I said Diggory's not going to do any better in it than you are!" Ron yelled again. "You saw him at the library, he's not exactly built like a brick wall!"

"Wait," Harry shouted, "this is _that_ Diggory?"

"How many Diggorys do you think there are in this school?"

"Well, at the moment there are five Weasleys," called Hermione from behind them. Ron ignored her.

"He's more solid than I am, though," yelled Harry as a crack of thunder sounded overhead. "He's got less of a chance of being blown off his broom."

A horrible thought struck him. He had been side-by-side with Seekers before, as they raced for the Snitch, close enough to touch. What if the wind blew him into Diggory and he, Harry, had another one of his mysterious…he wasn't sure what to call them. They seemed to be somewhere between blackouts and visions. With a grim smile, he thought of what Professor Trelawney would say if he told her that he was having visions – probably that unexplained hallucinations were a sure omen of horrible, painful death. Why had he been so stupid as to drink Neville's potion in the first place? Snape couldn't really kill a student's toad in class…or maybe he could. It had seemed like Trevor was in grave danger at the time. Still, to drink _Neville's_ _potion_, because of a _toad_… Perhaps he should have told Hermione about the visions after all. For all Harry knew, there was a quick and easy solution that could cure him in five minutes. But he hadn't wanted to worry her, not when she was under so much strain already. He had drunk a flawed potion to protect Neville and not told the whole truth to protect Hermione. As the rain pelted down overhead, Harry found himself wishing that he'd been more selfish.

Inside the changing room he dried himself as best he could, but he was still wet from head to toe. The three Chasers had produced fire from the tips of their wands and were huddling in a circle trying to get warm; Wood sat on one of the benches and stared at the wall almost catatonically. Even Fred and George couldn't manage to make any jokes to ease the tension.

Finally Wood rose mutely from his seat and gestured that it was time to go. Though he customarily made a speech before each match, he seemed to have lost the will to speak at all. "Poor Wood," Fred whispered to Harry as the team filed out the door. "If we don't win the Quidditch Cup this year, they might have to send him to St. Mungo's."

"That is, if they don't send him to Azkaban for murdering the Slytherins," said George, stepping out into the rain.


	20. Chapter 20

_After falling off his broomstick during the Quidditch match, Harry is in the hospital wing._

He was very small, wrapped in a blue blanket, with plush animals lying next to him. He had just woken up and he was holding a yellow dragon, its face wet from his saliva; he sat up and put it with some of his other animals, a black dog on one side of the dragon and a gray dog on the other. He had been asleep for a long time and now he was hungry.

He could hear voices in another room, low and steady, then a light, pretty laugh. He called out and he heard his name; there were footsteps coming closer.

A loud noise made him cover his ears and suddenly it was cold in his room, far too cold for inside. He grabbed the two dogs and the dragon and started to cry. He was hungry and the cold made his face sting.

There were no footsteps now and in the other room there was shouting, screaming, and then a deep thud like when – when – when someone whom he couldn't remember landed outside in the garden. Landed? Landed what? Landed –

The footsteps were fast and he could see the red in front of him, the pretty long red that he knew now not to grab. Something was behind her, something in a black cloak like – like they wore sometimes in the winter when they took him to the big house and he lay on his blanket with his animals and with the other boy and his animals, the round boy.

She was screaming and he was frightened; he pressed his face against his dragon's belly so that everything went dark, but he could still hear her even though he tried not to:

"_Not Harry, not Harry, please not – "_

"Potter, it's time for breakfast."

He opened his eyes to see Madam Pomfrey standing next to his bed, holding a tray of pumpkin juice and porridge. "Oh my, you're sweating. I ought to check for a fever – "

"No, I'm fine," Harry said, pulling away his covers and reaching for his glasses on the nightstand. "I just – I had a bad dream."

"I wouldn't doubt it," Madam Pomfrey replied, nodding sagely. "I was planning on keeping you here for the rest of the weekend, but now there's no question about it."

"I'm fine," Harry insisted at once. If there was one thing he didn't need, it was another person feeling sorry for him. "I can go back to Gryffindor Tower, honestly."

"I'd rather stay on the safe side and keep you here," she said, handing him his tray. "If you keep improving you ought to be able to go back to classes on Monday morning."

Shortly after Harry had finished eating and changed into a new pair of pajamas, Ron and Hermione arrived and sat down on the edge of his bed, Ron with a bag of Ice Mice and Hermione with a pile of Harry's schoolbooks. "I told her not to bring those," Ron said at once, noticing Harry staring at the enormous stack. "If there's ever a time where the teachers will let you off without having done your work, it's now."

"Snape won't," said Hermione, setting the books down on Harry's nightstand and placing a quill on the top of the pile. "McGonagall probably won't either, you know how she is."

"Yeah, well, that doesn't explain why you brought his Charms book," Ron retorted. "We haven't even got Charms until Wednesday." He turned the spines of the books towards him and looked at them. "You even brought his Divination book! You think Divination is rubbish."

"Well, just because I think Divination is rubbish doesn't mean that we don't have an essay due on Thursday."

As much as he thought Professor Trelawney's brand of predicting the future was based on a lot of guessing and dramatic voices, since seeing the black dog in the stands during the Quidditch match Harry had begun to wonder whether Divination really was a useless branch of magic. He knew Hermione would say it was just a stray dog, but had anyone else ever seen a stray dog around Hogwarts before? Even if they had, he was positive no one else had seen one sitting eerily still in the Quidditch stands moments before they fell off their broomstick and plummeted to the ground.

"Here, have some Ice Mice," said Ron, passing Harry the bag. "Maybe if your teeth chatter enough Madam Pomfrey will think you're still sick and you can get out of more classes." Hermione gave him an irritated look.

"I'd rather go back, so people know I'm all right," Harry said, but he took the Ice Mice anyway. "I bet Malfoy's telling everyone I'm on the verge of death."

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other. "Well," said Hermione slowly, "he was being really horrible at breakfast. He was talking about you falling off your broom and he kept exaggerating everything."

"He's had practice at that," Harry remarked. "How long now has he been wearing bandages on the tiny scratch on his arm?"

"Weeks," said Ron. "I lost count."

"Hagrid's still really worried about Buckbeak," Hermione said as Harry took two Ice Mice from Ron's bag and slipped them into his mouth. "He thinks – "

She broke off, looking past Harry to the door at the end of the row of beds. Harry turned. Cedric Diggory was standing there, wearing jeans and a blue jumper and looking nervous.

"Er, hi," he said, walking over to Harry's bed and standing awkwardly by its side. "I just wanted to tell you that I –" He leaned closer and stared at Harry's mouth. "Are you all right? Your teeth are chattering."

"I-i-i-i-i-c-e M-i-i-i-i-i-i-c-e," said Harry, feeling himself blushing and desperately wishing he'd never eaten the stupid sweets at all. It was bad enough to have lost to Diggory without looking like an idiot on top of it. Suddenly he was conscious that Diggory's hair was waving softly down his neck and he smelled like some sort of cologne, while he himself hadn't washed his face or brushed his teeth. "H-h-h-h-h-h-here, s-s-s-s-i-i-i-i –"

"I think he's saying 'sit down'," said Hermione, rescuing Harry from his embarrassment.

Diggory sat on the side of the bed opposite from Ron and Hermione, his firm weight pushing down the mattress. "I just wanted to say that I'm really sorry about the whole match. I don't think it was fair, and I asked Madam Hooch if we could have a rematch, but she and Wood both thought Hufflepuff won legitimately. I don't think we did, but – well, I just wanted to tell you that. I'm really sorry."

"That's all right," Harry muttered, realizing the effects of the Ice Mice had worn off. "Thanks."

"You've still got a chance to win the Quidditch Cup, you know," Diggory said. "If we lose to Ravenclaw by something-hundred points or Slytherin loses to us by something – I can't remember, I'm not any good at maths."

"Yeah," said Harry. "That's what Fred and George said. About the points, I mean."

Diggory gave him a hesitant smile. "Well – see you later, then."

"Yeah," said Harry again, feeling stupider by the minute.

"What a moron," said Ron the minute Diggory had closed the door behind him. "What does he want, an award for being so bloody fair?"

"He was just trying to be nice," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, Ron, do you have to assume the worst about him?"

"Look who talks," said Ron, "the girl who thinks Black is secretly out to get Harry, even though he told off Malfoy for us – "

As Ron and Hermione argued, Harry settled back into his pillows and shut his eyes for a second. If Professor Black didn't bring up the anti-dementor lessons again, Harry was going to. He couldn't take any more chances, not with a Quidditch Cup at stake and, more importantly, the terrified screams that echoed in his head. He knew the dream had been not just his imagination but a memory of the night Voldemort killed his parents. It was too vivid; there was something in his mind that recognized it, the way that a person could recognize the face of someone he hadn't seen in years, the face of an old enemy who had been out of sight but still every bit as dangerous.

As he opened his eyes and was just about to try to calm down Ron and Hermione, it occurred to him that when Diggory sat down, he could have sat on the empty bed next to Harry's.


	21. Chapter 21

_Harry goes back to classes._

With the predictable exception of the Slytherins, everyone seemed to be relieved that Harry had recovered from his fall; even a couple of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws whom Harry had never met approached him in the corridor and told him they were glad he was all right. Professor Flitwick was so surprised to see Harry alive and in one piece that he nearly fell off the pile of books that he sat on to see over the top of his desk. On his way to Defense Against the Dark Arts Harry saw Hagrid, who abandoned the giant pumpkins he was bringing to the kitchen to give Harry such a crushing hug that Harry thought for a moment that his glasses were going to break.

But it was Professor Black who had the strangest reaction of all. The minute Harry walked into his classroom, Black sprang from his desk and ran over to him, his long legs crossing the room in no more than five paces. "Tell me you're all right," he said, leaning down and resting his hands on Harry's shoulders. There was such an intense look in his gray eyes that Harry felt almost a bit afraid.

"I'm fine," he said quickly. "I was pretty much okay after I woke up, but Madam Pomfrey wanted to keep me in the hospital wing just in case."

Black let out a sigh of relief and released him. "You had everyone scared to death," he said. "If there's anything you don't feel up to doing in class, I want you to tell me."

"I'm okay," Harry insisted. "I was wondering, though – sir, do you remember when you said you would teach me to fight the dementors?"

"Of course I do," Black said. "I asked you to tell me when you had time to do it and we'd arrange something."

"Oh," said Harry, embarrassed. "Right. Well, Wood's giving everyone two weeks off from practice while he figures out our strategy for the Ravenclaw match, so I haven't got anything in the evenings."

"Give me a few days to think of how we're going to do this," said Black. "Obviously we can't start out against real dementors, but I'm not sure what we _will_ start out with. I'll come up with something by the next lesson."

"Okay," said Harry, relieved, and went to sit down with the rest of the class.

Hermione, however, had other ideas about how Harry should spend his newfound free time. "We know that you're safe from blood magic," she told Harry at dinner, "but we still need to find out exactly what you're up against. I think you ought to research werewolves as much as you can."

Harry suddenly realized that he knew nothing about werewolves. He had figured that he knew at least a few things about them, but now that he thought about it, all his knowledge of werewolves came from the Muggle monster films Dudley sometimes watched. The Muggle notion of gnomes was nothing like the wizarding version; what would a werewolf, a real werewolf, be like?

"All right," he said. "Let's go look tonight."

An uncomfortable look came over Hermione's face. "Actually, I can't go," she said. "I have to work on my Arithmancy essay. I'm really sorry, Harry. You and Ron are going to have to go by yourselves."

"Oh, come on," said Ron, idly poking at his potatoes with his fork. "When's your Arithmancy essay due, next month?"

"It's due the day after tomorrow, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. Her voice was unsteady; for a moment, Harry thought she might actually start crying. "It's due the day after tomorrow and I've only just started researching today. I have to reference three different books and consult four different charts and Professor Vector doesn't assign a physical length of essays, she assigns a number of words, and this one is supposed to be at least two thousand and forty-two words long and I only know what thirty-eight of them are going to be – "

Ron put down his fork. "Hermione," he said, "look, you're going to drive yourself mental. Maybe you should quit Arithmancy."

"I can't quit Arithmancy!" she cried. "It's my favorite class!"

With no Hermione to help them, Harry and Ron spent almost fifteen minutes just trying to find the right section of the library. "All right, here we are," said Ron at last, sliding a book off the shelf. "_The Historical and Practical Guide to the Werewolf_ by Conall Valko. Wow, Harry, this book is huge…" He flipped through the pages. "Attempted cures from the seventeenth century…werewolf colonies in Belgium…'the psychology of the lycanthropy sufferer'…hang on, what's lycanthropy?"

"The condition of being a werewolf," said a slightly sneering voice from behind them.

Harry turned around and, with a sinking horror, realized that Snape was standing in the aisle, staring at them with his cold black eyes. "I wouldn't bother with the psychology of the lycanthropy sufferer if I were you, Potter," he said. "So little of the human remains in a werewolf that his mind is that of a beast – a cunning beast, perhaps, but a beast all the same. The fool who thinks otherwise often finds himself confronted with some rather nasty truths – " he smirked " – once it is too late for him to admit his own arrogance."

"Why don't you go tell that to Dumbledore, then?" Harry said before he could stop himself. "He let Remus Lupin go to Hogwarts, obviously he didn't think his mind was that of a beast."

Snape's eyes flashed. "If I were looking for information about Remus Lupin," he said slowly, "I would try the published records of the Wizengamot from twelve years ago. Two shelves over and five shelves back." He gave Harry a final stare, turned on his heel, and marched off down the row.

"Harry," said Ron slowly, "I know it's Snape and all, but – maybe you ought to look. The Wizengamot's the wizard high court, they probably had lots about Lupin in their records twelve years ago."

"I'm not doing anything Snape thinks is a good idea," Harry said flatly. "There's no way Snape would have told me that if it would actually help. Come on, I'm going to take out this book."


	22. Chapter 22

That night and the next day, Harry immersed himself in the book about werewolves; it was a far better alternative than researching his essay on Shrinking Solutions, which Hermione prodded him to do during the rare moments that she wasn't frantically flipping the pages of her Arithmancy books and jotting down anything that looked as though it might be of some use. He couldn't say exactly what it was, but something about the book seemed to pull him in. He even found himself thinking about it during classes and impatiently counting down the minutes until he could return to reading it.

Werewolves could be wizards or Muggles, though they were usually wizards, and turned into wolves at the full moon, something Dudley's monster films had got right. Until the full moon had ended they were ravenous for human flesh and would bite any person they came across, their minds animalistic and without human reason. The book insisted, though, that during the rest of the month werewolves were just like other people, and that the ones with magical abilities were just as sane and capable of doing magic as other wizards. ("Though sometimes that's not saying much," said Ron, who had quit writing his History of Magic essay on Ludwig the Loony to read over Harry's shoulder.)

As far as Harry could tell, there was nothing about Lupin's being a werewolf that would make him more dangerous if Harry met him during the rest of the lunar cycle. Though he had told Hermione he would learn everything he could about the dangers of werewolves, Harry kept skipping to other parts of the book. Werewolf children, he read, tended to have one of two reactions to their condition: either they tried desperately to fit in and be seen as normal, or they completely rejected full humans and in time grew to hate them. Harry couldn't decide which one Lupin had been; based on what Stan Shunpike had told him, Lupin must have become a werewolf before he was eleven years old. Had Lupin wanted to belong so badly that he would join any group that was willing to accept him, even the Death Eaters? Or had he loathed the wizards around him and hoped to use what they had taught him to destroy them one day?

"How do you become a werewolf, anyway?" Ron asked. They were sitting at a table in the common room as Hermione worked on her essay. She was very irritable; the common room was noisy and Oliver Wood, wanting to concentrate on drawing his diagrams for the next Quidditch match, had taken back his earmuffs. Every time Ron or Harry suggested she could move her things to the library, she snapped that she had almost finished and besides, it would take her too long to move her three different books and four different charts.

"You ought to know that, Ron," she said impatiently, her finger moving back and forth from one chart to the other. "Quirrell told us that back in first year."

"Like I remember anything Quirrell said," Ron retorted. "You couldn't think of anything in that room except garlic, the way it smelled."

"You have to be bitten by one," said Harry, turning the page. He wanted to read as much as he could in case Professor Black was ready to start his anti-dementor lessons the next day.

Black was true to his word; the following afternoon he pulled Harry aside after class and told him he'd figured out a way that Harry could start learning to fight the dementors. "I should tell you right now that it may not work," he said to Harry as the rest of the class filed out of the room. Harry could see Ron and Hermione waiting for him just past the doorway. "But it's worth a shot. If it doesn't work, I'll think up something else. Can you meet me in my office at eight o'clock?"

"Okay," Harry said. He tried to think of what the idea might be; Black had told him that they couldn't start with real dementors, but they must have to start with some other sort of creature. For a split second he pictured himself battling a miniature dementor the size of Professor Flitwick.

"I know you don't want to look at those records Snape told you about," said Ron as they walked back to Gryffindor Tower, his voice low so Hermione wouldn't hear him. Harry was grateful that Ron hadn't mentioned the records to Hermione, as he knew she would be upset to hear that he had purposefully refused to read something that might tell him more about Lupin. He still wholeheartedly believed that Snape could have had no good reason for telling him about the records; since when had Snape tried to make his life any easier? "But did you look up that potion Snape told Dumbledore about? The thing that was in the goblet? I mean, if Dumbledore knows about it, it's not just Snape – "

Harry found the Wolfsbane Potion in the index and turned to the right page. _Invented in 1986,_ the passage read, _the Wolfsbane Potion enables a werewolf to maintain his human mind during the full moon. Though he will inevitably turn into a wolf, the potion makes him no longer dangerous to humans, provided he has no malicious intent towards them while in human form. Unfortunately, a werewolf who bears ill will towards full humans can use the Wolfsbane Potion for his own harmful purposes. As a wolf with a human's mind, he can purposely attack specific victims, as opposed to being overcome with the werewolf's usual madness and assaulting anyone in his path. The Wolfsbane Potion must be taken in the week before the full moon –_

Hermione had been reading along with Harry; she looked at him, her face white. "You realize what this means, don't you?" she said. "If Lupin's drinking the Wolfsbane Potion in the week before the full moon, he'll still be sane and remember that he wants to – "

" – get me," Harry finished. A sudden, horrid thought struck him. "Hermione – Hermione, he must want to make me a werewolf. If he just wanted to kill me, he could do it as a wizard, couldn't he? But if he wants to stay sane during the full moon, there's something he has to do as a wolf…" There was a sick feeling of dread in his stomach. So that was Lupin's plan. He didn't just want to murder Harry and avenge Voldemort – he wanted to make him suffer, as he, Lupin, had been made to suffer…

"We don't know if that's true," said Hermione hurriedly.

"Well, what else could it be? If he wanted to kill me all he'd have to do was whip out his wand and do it, but that's not what he wants to do. Either he wants to make me a werewolf…"

"Or he wants to be able to rip you apart with his fangs," said Ron quietly.

They looked at each other silently, Hermione's face still white, Ron's a pale shade of green. Harry felt for the couch behind him and sank down onto it. If Lupin found him he would be dead or else made to live a life so horrible that it could lead someone to this, could lead them to hate a person so much they would write his name in their own blood and break out of the most heavily-guarded place in the wizarding world to kill him…

"I've just thought of something," said Hermione suddenly. "You said that Snape said that the Wolfsbane Potion was invented while Lupin was in Azkaban, didn't you? If this book was written after the potion was invented, it was written after Lupin had been sent to prison. Maybe there's something about him in the book…"

_Lupin, Remus J.,_ read the index. _Page 189._

_Remus J. Lupin, b. 1960, is most famous for killing thirteen people with a single curse, presumably on the orders of He Who Must Not Be Named. Currently serving a life sentence in Azkaban, Lupin previously taught Defense Against the Dark Arts at The Schwartz Academy for Lycanthropic Wizards in Berlin._

That was the end of the paragraph on Lupin. The rest of the page had more short paragraphs about other famous werewolves.

"Wow," said Ron, looking up at Harry and Hermione. "Imagine having Lupin as your teacher."


	23. Chapter 23

_Harry goes to his first anti-dementor lesson._

When Harry arrived at Black's office at eight o'clock he found Black dictating a letter to a sapphire-blue quill that was scribbling of its own accord. " – the end of the matter," Black was saying as Harry entered. He held up one finger and then beckoned Harry inside. The quill hovered over the parchment, waiting for Black to continue. "Anything you do can only cause me irritation and will not cause me the slightest bit of shame. Sincerely – " He plucked the quill from the air and signed the letter. "Sirius…Aurelius…Black.

"About the motorbike," he said to Harry, putting the quill back in the inkwell and reaching for the candle and block of red wax that sat next to it. "They're being unreasonable. Now, about these lessons – "

"Yes, sir," said Harry eagerly.

"This idea I have might not work, and if it does, you're going to have some long and strenuous work ahead of you." The red block of wax was beginning to melt. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Well, I've got to, haven't I?" Harry said. "I can't keep passing out every time I come near a dementor."

Black dripped the melting wax onto the folded letter and pressed it down with a gold stamp. What exactly the stamp was of, Harry couldn't tell; it was too intricate to figure out at a glance. "If you're lucky, you won't be coming near any more dementors. There's no way Dumbledore will let them near a Quidditch pitch again and you aren't going to Hogsmeade."

Harry was about to tell Black what McGonagall had said, that once Remus Lupin was found he could go to Hogsmeade, even without a permission slip – maybe Black knew why that was, being a teacher – but before he could speak Black said, "But I can understand wanting to be prepared anyway. Here, go ahead and sit down, I want to talk to you about my idea."

Harry sat in one of the red armchairs in front of the desk; Black took the other. "First of all," he began, "do you know what a boggart is?"

"No, sir." Suddenly he was nervous; did he have to already know about boggarts if Black's idea were to work?

Surprisingly, Black looked pleased. "Good. It'll be easier this way to see if the plan works." He rose from his seat and went around to the other side of the desk. "Stay in your chair."

From somewhere in his desk Black took out a plain wooden box about the size of a shoebox; Harry barely had time to wonder what the box had to do with boggarts before it gave a violent lurch forward, almost escaping Black's grip. Black pressed his hand down firmly on the lid. "There's a boggart in this box and I'm going to let it out. You may not believe this once you see it, but it won't hurt you. All right?"

"All right," said Harry, bracing himself.

"All right."

Black set down the box on the desk and backed away; almost immediately, the lid flew off as if someone had suddenly pushed it very hard. A ghoulish gray hand emerged, its rotting fingers clamping down on the side of the box. Harry suddenly felt as though he were paralyzed. The room was freezing and the hand was pushing downward – a dementor was climbing out of the box, its rasping breath sending chills down Harry's spine – the dementor was out of the box, it was moving towards him, but he still couldn't move –

"Over here!" yelled Black. The dementor turned towards him and then, with a loud crack, suddenly it wasn't a dementor anymore – it was a man, a shabby man with graying hair, his face hidden from Harry's view. "_Riddikulus!_" Black shouted, his wand pointed at the man. There was another crack and where the man had stood was a tiny person, smaller than a house-elf, the size of a doll in a dollhouse. He was waving his arms and squealing incoherently in a high-pitched voice that reminded Harry of the pixies Lockhart had once brought to class. Black picked up the little person, threw him into the box, and slammed down the lid.

"Professor, what – " Harry began to say.

"A boggart is a shapeshifter," said Black, sitting back down in the other chair, the shaking box held firmly in his hands. "It turns into whatever frightens a person the most; I didn't want to tell you that in case you subconsciously tried to block out what you were most afraid of. I thought that the dementors might be your biggest fear, so I figured we'd start you off with a boggart. Obviously we can't use a real dementor." He smiled at Harry. "My plan worked, so that's one less obstacle to overcome."

"So when you yelled at the boggart and it turned towards you," Harry said, "it turned into – what you fear the most?"

Black's smile faded. "Yes," he said shortly.

A shabby-looking man with graying hair…what was frightening about that? Wait, Harry thought. There was something familiar about the man's timid posture…

"Hang on," he said before he could stop himself. "That wasn't _Remus Lupin_, was it?"

"Yes, it was," said Black. He got up from his chair and turned towards his desk.

Harry could tell that the warm, encouraging side of Black had disappeared; at that moment he was once again the man who had coldly snapped at Malfoy on the train. It was as though some light inside of him had been put out. He did not look at Harry but held the box under his arm and rearranged some papers with the other hand.

"It makes sense," said Harry hurriedly, not knowing if he would make things better or worse but not wanting to sit in the uncomfortable silence. "I mean, who wouldn't be afraid of somebody who killed thirteen people at once? If there wasn't any dementors or Vol – You-Know-Who, he'd probably be what I feared the most too – "

"You're allowed to say 'Voldemort' around me," Black said. He turned towards Harry again. The gauntness Harry had seen in his face on the night he had seen Black with the Mirror of Erised had returned. "I'm sorry, Harry. I've been under a lot of stress lately and this – " He waved his hand vaguely. "I shouldn't have acted like that. It's natural for you to want to ask questions, especially when you're here to learn. My sincere apologies."

"It's okay," said Harry, feeling embarrassed. He had never had a conversation like this with a professor, not even Dumbledore.

"The work we do here is going to deal a lot with fears," Black said. "We may end up learning a few personal things about each other in the process. If you're ready to deal with that, I'll do my best as well."

"Okay." Harry thought his face was probably as red as Ron's could get. "Do – do you want me to come back later?"

"I can do eight o'clock tomorrow," said Black. "We want to make the most of your two weeks off from Quidditch practice. Does that work for you?"

"I think so."

"All right. I promise to be more prepared to teach."

"You were prepared," said Harry. "You're just – I mean – I get it," he finished awkwardly. "I understand and everything."

Black gave him a rueful smile. "See you at eight o'clock tomorrow."

"Right. See you tomorrow, sir."


	24. Chapter 24

I put a voice post on my journal about this fic and about the series that it starts. You can listen to it at: http:// marauderthesn. livejournal. com /258977. html (remove spaces). No huge spoilers, just some thoughts and one small spoiler that everyone seems to have guessed anyway. :D

* * *

"So – when the boggart turned into the tiny Lupin – " Harry said the next day, "what – why – "

"The way to defeat a boggart is to make it turn itself into something funny," said Black, and drained the rest of his butterbeer. "The strategy with a dementor is somewhat similar, actually. You have to think of your happiest memory and use it to generate a protector against the dementor, the force of misery." He smiled at Harry. "So start thinking."

"What counts as happy enough?" Harry asked. "I mean, is there a – minimum level of happiness you need?"

Black looked at him curiously. "You don't think you have a happy enough memory?"

"Well, it's not like I don't have any," Harry said at once. "I'm not saying I don't, it's just – I don't know if they're good enough. They probably are," he added. More than anything else, he didn't want Black to think that he was trying to make him feel sorry for him.

"I think the important thing," said Black, "is that it's a memory of a time where you were so overwhelmingly happy that you couldn't feel anything else. Do you have one of those?"

Harry remembered the day back during his first year when he had ridden a broomstick for the first time. It was one of his happiest memories, but he couldn't say that he'd been so happy that he didn't feel anything else – he'd been afraid that Madam Hooch was going to return and see him disobeying the rules, and worried that Malfoy was going to break Neville's Remembrall before he could get to it. Next he thought of last year when he'd defeated Riddle and all the Petrified people had returned to normal, but in a way that hadn't been just happiness, it had been relief – relief that it was over at last, that Hermione was back, that no now one would think he had been the one responsible. What about the end of his first year, when Gryffindor had won the House Cup…?

"Yeah," he said, "I think I do."

"Good." Black set down the empty bottle on his desk. "Are you done with your butterbeer? All right, this is what you do. The boggart comes out of the box, it sees you, it turns into a dementor. It's going to be difficult, but what you have to do is concentrate as hard as you can on that memory. Then you hold out your wand, point it at the dementor, and say _Expecto patronum_, all right?"

"All right," said Harry.

"Don't worry if you don't get it right the first time. I wouldn't expect anyone to get it right the first time, much less a thirteen-year-old. I know I didn't get it right when I first learned it."

"When did you first learn it?" Harry asked. He was trying to figure out when people usually learned how to fight dementors. Was it something they taught in seventh year?

Black glanced downward. "About twelve years ago," he said. "Are you ready?"

"There's just one thing," Harry said. "This protector thing – "

"Yes," said Black. "It's called a Patronus."

"What does a Patronus look like? How do we know when I've got it right?"

"They usually look like different animals," Black said. "If we're lucky, you'll get a little bit of silver fog on the first try – they're always silver."

"Why are they animals? Why silver animals?"

Black's mouth twitched; a second later, he started laughing. "You know, I don't know," he said. "No one ever explained that to me. Probably for the same reason that Veela are always blonde and spells are usually in some mangled form of Latin."

Harry wanted to ask what Veela were, but more than that he wanted to have a go at the boggart-dementor. "I think I'm ready," he said.

Black pulled open one of the drawers in his desk and took out the box. "Concentrate hard on that memory," he said. "Don't stop thinking about it."

Harry thought about Gryffindor winning the House Cup – the look of joyous shock on Neville's face, the decorations in the Great Hall changing from green to red, the cheers and the smiles and the incredulous looks from the Slytherin table. Black opened the box and the ghoulish hand emerged.

Suddenly Harry heard the terrified voice he had heard in his dream, the dream that no one needed to tell him had been real. _"Not Harry, not Harry, please not – " _He tried as hard as he could to think about the House Cup but the Great Hall was overwhelmed by the crib in the bedroom, the red of the decorations was replaced by the red of his mother's hair –

The next thing he knew he was looking not at red hair but at black; he was laying on the floor and Black was leaning over him, slapping him across the face.

"Sorry," Black said. "You opened your eyes somewhere in mid-slap."

"That's okay," Harry replied, his voice weak. His shoulders were resting on Black's arm. "Did I manage to do anything before I – " He didn't want to say he had fainted. "Before I passed out?"

"No," said Black. "Just looked at the dementor and fell straight back. Don't worry, you didn't hit your head, I caught you in time."

Harry sat up, rubbing his forehead. "I _hate_ this."

"We can quit," Black said hastily. "Like I said before, I don't think that you're going to run into the dementors again – "

"No," said Harry. "Not this, I mean. Just – this whole thing." He felt limp, as drained and exhausted as he had ever felt in his life. He didn't even have the energy to care if Black felt sorry for him or not.

"I know it can't be easy," Black said. "You have – things in your past that – "

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "Just once I'd like to see Malfoy or Snape have to pass out in front of the whole school – "

"Snape did pass out in front of the whole school once," said Black. "We were in the same year. One day as everyone was coming back from a Quidditch match, he was walking ahead of everyone else – he was never very big on Quidditch matches, probably just wanted to get away as soon as he could – and came across a dead rabbit lying on the ground with its stomach ripped open. He had one look, vomited, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and there he was, out cold on the ground."

"_Really?_" Harry asked, amazed. "Snape's got all sorts of disgusting things in jars in his office, I wouldn't think a dead rabbit would make him faint."

"Yes," said Black, "but none of them are bleeding. He could deal with dead animals, he could deal with blood in a vial, but bleeding animals were a different story. Never took Care of Magical Creatures. If he ever gives you detention and makes you skin something, that's why. He's probably a lot better about it now, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's still a struggle for him."

"Wouldn't have liked your old job," Harry said, "killing and skinning boomslangs." Black smiled.

"Oh, I'm supposed to give you chocolate," he said. He got a bar from his desk and handed it to Harry. Harry peeled off the wrapper, broke off a piece and took a bite; the moment he did so, warmth flooded back into his body.

"Do you want any, sir?" he asked Black after he had finished half the bar.

"No thanks," Black said. "I'm allergic."

"Really?"

"Really. I get rashes all over. Sometimes, when I was a boy and I'd done something that made Kreacher angry, he used to slip a little bit of chocolate into my food at dinner."

"Didn't your mother ever stop him?"

"Not usually, she and I didn't get along for a long time before we were estranged. Besides, he used to claim that he'd meant that plate for my brother."

"I didn't know you had a brother," Harry said.

"Yes. His name is Regulus."

"Is he older or younger?"

"Younger by a year."

"What does he do for a job?"

Something in Black's face changed. "I don't know," he said. "I don't have any idea where he is. Maybe he's dead. When I was twenty-one he disappeared."

Harry regretted that he'd started asking questions. "Oh," he said. "I'm sorry." Having a brother and not knowing if he was dead or alive – Harry thought of how the Weasley brothers had been when Ginny was taken into the Chamber of Secrets. It must be worse not to know if your brother was alive than to know for sure that he was dead.

"Thank you." Black got to his feet. "By this point I think he probably has died, even if he didn't die shortly after he disappeared. We never got along well, not since we were children, but – for all I know, if he hadn't disappeared, we would now. Of course, maybe we'd hate each other just as much or even more, but…"

He looked so sad that Harry felt as though he were intruding on something he had no right to witness. "Sir," he said hesitantly, "do you want me to go?"

"I certainly do not," Black said. "I won't have my problems interfering with your education. I do think you've had enough of that boggart for one night, though…do you want to practice the spell just on its own?"

"All right," Harry said. He stood up and held his wand out in front of him. "What was it again? Expecto…something…"

"_Expecto patronum._"

"_Expecto patronum._" He closed his eyes and thought again of the night that Gryffindor had won the House Cup. The wonderful smell of the food, Percy bragging about Ron, the knowledge that he'd earned back all the points he'd lost the house and now everything was all right – "_Expecto patronum!_"

He opened his eyes to see a small wisp of fog emerge from his wand; Black looked delighted. "Harry!" he exclaimed. "That's excellent, very good! I don't think most third-years could do half as well after months of practice – this is a complicated spell, most wizards don't even learn it in school. I think one of the only places where it's part of a curriculum is in Auror training – training to become a dark wizard catcher," he added, seeing Harry's blank look. "That's what my cousin Andromeda's daughter is in. Nymphadora – that's her picture of the wall." Harry looked over where Black was pointing; it was the picture of the little girl that Harry had first thought to be Black's daughter. She smiled at him and yawned.

"Is she related to Malfoy as well, sir?" Harry asked.

"She's his first cousin. They've never met, though, Andromeda and I are very much on the outs with the rest of the family. We both committed the horrible sin of thinking pureblood snobbery was just that, snobbery, and dangerous snobbery as well. Andromeda's husband – Nymphadora's father – is Muggle-born. You should have heard the weeping when she eloped with him, you would have thought someone had died. My mother and her mother wouldn't even mention Nymphadora when she was born."

"How old is she now?" Harry asked. "Nymphadora."

"Twenty. She was a seventh-year here when you were in your first year; did you ever see a girl in the corridors with pink or purple hair? No? Well, if you had, that would have been Nymphadora. Enough about that, back to the charm, it's getting late."

They spent another half hour on the Patronus Charm; by the end of the lesson, the wisp of fog had gotten larger, but it still looked nothing like an animal. "Don't be disappointed," Black said. "As I said, it's very advanced magic. Same time tomorrow?"

"All right. Will it work if we meet at the same time each night until I start Quidditch practice again?"

"That's fine. Although some nights I may have to ask you to leave earlier, I've assigned essays in other classes that are due over the next week or so and I have to correct them."

Harry was just about to close the door behind him when he thought of something. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Your Patronus – what does it turn into?"

"A dragon," Black said. "When I was a child I had an imaginary dragon friend who threw rocks at Kreacher. Good night, Harry."


	25. Chapter 25

Ron and Hermione were both eager to hear about Harry's anti-dementor lessons, but to Harry's surprise he found himself only telling them as little as he could. He didn't want to talk about hearing his mother's dying screams, and Black had never given him permission to tell anyone about Lupin the boggart or Regulus. Harry didn't like to keep things from Ron and Hermione; but, he concluded, he wouldn't like it if he found out that Black had been telling his, Harry's, secrets to the entire staff room.

The next several lessons were a disappointment to Harry. As hard as he tried, he couldn't produce anything more than some silver fog. Black tried to encourage him by pointing out that the silver fog was bigger than Harry's first bit of silver fog had been, but Harry was frustrated with himself.

"Maybe it's the memory," Black said one day. "Can you think of another one that might be stronger?"

The only stronger memory of pure, undiluted happiness Harry could think of was the moment that he'd found out he was a wizard and could leave the Dursleys. He concentrated with all his might, but all he got was a thicker fog that he managed to maintain for longer than he had before.

"What am I doing wrong?" he asked in exasperation, slumped in one of the armchairs opening a bar of chocolate after Black's dragon had forced the boggart-dementor back into the box.

"You aren't doing anything wrong," said Black. "You're thirteen years old and it's a very difficult charm. If you have the happiest memory you can think of, all you can do is train your mind to concentrate on it."

Harry started to make himself think about the memory during Professor Trelawney's class – it wasn't as though he'd miss anything important, he reasoned – but the sleepy heat of the tower made it hard to think about anything except how bored he was and how much he'd like to go back to bed, or at least to a different class. Next he tried it in History of Magic, but gave up that plan after leaving class and realizing that not only had he not heard half of what Professor Binns said – a common occurrence – but he didn't have any idea what the topic had been in the first place. Unwilling to let Hermione find out how little attention he had paid, Harry decided to ask Neville for his notes. Neville usually managed to take meticulous notes in History of Magic, spurred by his fear that he would fail the class and have to face the wrath of his grandmother.

"Sure," said Neville, looking pleased that Harry had asked him. "I need them back by the next class, though."

"All right," Harry said. "Oh, by the way, Neville – " He proceeded to tell Neville the story about Snape and the dead rabbit.

Neville appeared even happier. "I can deal with bleeding rabbits," he said, his face lighting up. "My gran has me skin them sometimes at home for supper."

"Just remember that during Potions," Harry said. "You can do something that Snape can't."

Neville smiled, despite the nasty look that Parvati was giving him; Lavender had overheard the words "bleeding rabbits" and burst into a fresh round of tears.

On the afternoon of Harry's last anti-dementor lesson before Quidditch practice started again, Oliver Wood found him in the common room and told him he ought to start thinking about getting a replacement broom for the Nimbus Two Thousand. "I don't think McGonagall can get you another one," he said, looking mournful; if there was anyone whose depression over the broomstick's wreck came anywhere close to Harry's, it was Wood. "She had a hard time getting you the first one, Snape just about had a fit when he found out. The only brooms we have for you to use during practice are a Cleansweep Three and a Shooting Star – "

"I've got a Shooting Star," said Ron, looking up from his homework. "You'd have better luck climbing up a goalpost and jumping to catch the Snitch."

"And the Cleansweep Three is even more ancient," Wood finished. "So the sooner you pick out another broomstick and send the order form – "

"All right," said Harry.

Eager to maintain Gryffindor's chances of winning the Quidditch Cup, everyone seemed to have advice on which broom Harry should buy. "Might as well go for a Firebolt," Ron said. He looked suddenly gloomy. "Seeing as you can afford one and all." Seamus and Dean suggested a Nimbus Two Thousand and One, but changed their minds when Harry told them this was the type of broom that Malfoy had. Katie Bell was of the opinion that he ought to get the new Cleansweep Nine, whereas Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet argued for another Nimbus Two Thousand – "Why mess with success?" Alicia said. Even Hermione, who had never quite understood the importance of Quidditch, offered to take a couple of hours away from her books and research racing brooms, but she was beaten to the task by Colin Creevey, who appeared breathless and red-faced by Harry's side at the end of dinner, holding a five-page report.

"Got any advice on racing brooms?" Harry said to Black when he arrived in his office, and then added, after a second's thought, "Sir?"

"I'm a little behind on them," Black said. He had his long hair pulled back in a ponytail, which, Harry thought, would have looked stupid on any other teacher. "If you wanted one for endurance flying, though, I'd recommend a Massachusetts Colonial. You had what before, a Nimbus Two Thousand?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I don't know if I'll get another one, though…over the summer I kept looking at this Firebolt. I mean, if I've got to get another broom, I might as well get one I really want, right?"

"Sounds logical to me," Black said. "Now, about these lessons. I think I can manage once a week after the Christmas holidays. Does that work for you?"

"I think so," said Harry. "Wood can't make me practice every single second."

Black smiled. "I never played Quidditch," he said. "I used to do the commentary, though. Who have they got doing it these days?"

"Lee Jordan," Harry said. A thought occurred to him. "I didn't see you at the Quidditch match."

"Headache." Black picked up his wand from his desk. "Are you ready?"

Harry's concentration was the best it had ever been, but he still didn't manage to produce a fully-formed Patronus. "I saw a leg," Black said at the end of the lesson. "Definite progress."

"I wonder what it is," said Harry. "What sort of animal."

"Something that's not a fish." Black passed him a chocolate bar. "Are you sick of chocolate, or so sick of chocolate that you can't force down another bite?"

"Just sick of chocolate," Harry said, grinning.

Upon returning to the common room, he turned down Fred and George's offer to tell him all the features of various brooms and went to bed instead. It was still fairly early but Harry felt tired after nearly two weeks' worth of fighting dementors and wanted nothing more than to bury his head in his pillow and not have to think about anything else. As he got into his pajamas, he wondered what his Patronus was; perhaps it was an owl, he thought. Black's imaginary dragon had protected him from Kreacher and in the summers Hedwig protected Harry from unbearable frustration with Privet Drive.

He had put on his pajamas, taken off his glasses and got into bed when he heard a loud crack. For one wild split second he thought Dobby had returned, but after fumbling for the light and reaching for his glasses he saw a folded piece of parchment on top of his trunk.

_Harry – _

_I still feel awful about the last match. Someone said they heard Oliver Wood talking about your getting a new broom – either go for a Firebolt (that was the broom they said he mentioned) or get another Nimbus Two Thousand. Don't get a Nimbus Two Thousand and One. I have one and its Cushioning Charm is almost completely worn out. It can have a problem with left turns as well – I'm trusting you not to tell that to the Ravenclaws, we're playing them on the twenty-seventh. Oh, and even though there's a broom shop in Hogsmeade don't order yours from there, because with the better racing brooms they have to have them sent from Diagon Alley and it'll be faster if you just order from Diagon Alley in the first place. Good luck with everything._

_C. Diggory_


	26. Chapter 26

Hufflepuff lost their Quidditch match against Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor continued to have a chance at the Cup. "I still think Diggory was trying to make us lose," said Ron at breakfast a few days afterward; Harry had shown Cedric Diggory's letter to him and Hermione. "People think he's so fair all the time, but – "

"If Cedric Diggory sent Harry that note because he wanted to make Gryffindor lose, Ron," Hermione said, reaching for the pitcher of pumpkin juice, "then he went about it in the stupidest way he could." Ron gave her a pointed look. "Oh honestly, I know Fred and George think he's an idiot, but he's a prefect, he has to be at least somewhat intelligent."

"That's debatable," said Ron, gazing down the table at Percy, who had just poured coffee without looking up from his book and spilled half the pot.

"How would following the advice in that letter make Gryffindor lose the Quidditch Cup? Diggory said Harry ought to get a Firebolt or another Nimbus Two Thousand. You said yourself he should get a Firebolt and we know there's nothing wrong with the Nimbus."

"There's probably something really good about the Nimbus Two Thousand and One that he didn't want us to have," Ron said ominously. "A special feature or something that we don't know about because the Slytherin team are too stupid to have figured it out."

"And Diggory has, because he's so clever?"

"I never said he was as stupid as the Slytherins," Ron said. "No one's as stupid as the Slytherins. Goyle would probably try to put food in his bum instead of his mouth if he weren't wearing pants."

"We're all trying to eat, you know," said Ginny, who was sitting two seats away from Hermione. Ron ignored her.

"There's nothing better than a Firebolt," said Harry. He had no idea why Ron was so dead set against Diggory, but they had been hearing about it for over a week and Harry was getting tired of it. Still, he hadn't decided which was worse, listening to Ron or listening to Hermione, who kept insisting that Harry should sent Diggory a thank-you note. "Why would he tell me to get the best there is?"

"It could be what's-it-called," Ron said. "Reverse psychology." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Look, how's this, Hermione, I'll consider the possibility that Diggory was acting out of the goodness of his pure, moronic heart when you consider the possibility that Black is the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we've had and not some Death Eater friend of Lupin's, or whatever you think he is this week."

"I have considered that possibility," said Hermione calmly. "I think you were right about him."

Ron stared, amazed. Hermione shrugged and started putting extra pieces of bacon into her bag.

"All right," Ron said. "You're probably right about Diggory, he's probably too brain-dead to know how to trick anyone. What's that bacon for?"

"Crookshanks," said Hermione.

"Now there's reverse psychology," said Fred, who had overheard them. "Make Ron think you just want to feed your cat, when you're really plotting to give it to Scabbers and kill him by clogging his little arteries."

"That's not reverse psychology," said Hermione, reddening. "And I don't want to kill Scabbers anyway."

"Of course it's not for Scabbers, you prat," George said to Fred. "It's for her boyfriend, what's-his-name – Astrophil."

"You've got a boyfriend, Hermione?" Lavender said, and dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"No I _don't_," said Hermione, looking irritated. "I just found this love letter and they keep trying to be funny by saying it was for me."

"Well, if it wasn't for you, then why did you find it?" said Lavender.

"Because Crookshanks picked it up somewhere, that's why!"

"I never heard of a cat picking up a love letter before."

"Well, he did, and I can't help it," Hermione said, getting up from the table and giving Lavender one last angry look before she marched out of the Great Hall.

Lavender told Parvati and was overheard by Seamus and Dean, who started laughing and then had to explain to the fourth-year girls at the table what was so funny. By the next day, most of the Gryffindor Tower had heard about Astrophil's letter and couldn't help exchanging furtive snickers whenever Hermione walked by.

"I wish you two would just keep your big mouths shut!" she shouted tearfully at Fred and George when they came across them in the corridor. Two first-year girls passed by, glancing once at Hermione before they ran off giggling. "No, I know, I wish some pet of yours had picked it up so everyone would be laughing at you!"

"Don't be stupid, Hermione, we haven't got pets," Fred said. "Mum thinks we'd blow them up or something. Besides, no one would think it was for one of us, it was written by a bloke."

"Don't worry about it, Hermione," Ron said as Fred and George walked away. "In a few days someone will have got caught kissing in an empty classroom or something and then everyone will take the mickey out of them instead."

The only upside to the whole situation was that such was the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin that the Gryffindors managed to stop laughing when the Slytherins were around, so as not to give them a reason to make fun of another Gryffindor. Therefore, Malfoy didn't hear about Hermione's supposed boyfriend, much to Harry's relief. He was used to Malfoy mocking him, but he knew that Hermione was so upset that if Malfoy found out it would be the last straw.

Things were not looking well for Malfoy. Not only was Hagrid still teaching and with Buckbeak still on the grounds, but Professor Black had started putting Malfoy in detention at least once every few days. "It's only because Black hates Draco's side of the family," Pansy Parkinson told anyone who would listen, but Harry doubted this. Since the moment Malfoy had found out that his relation to Black wasn't going to get him any special treatment, he'd been rude to Black at every opportunity. Frankly, Harry thought it showed a lot of restraint on Black's part that he hadn't put Malfoy in detention every day from the start of school.

On the first Friday in December, Harry went to Black's office at eight o'clock for his lesson, his arms and back tired from the hours of Quidditch practice he'd just finished. In the two weeks off Wood had devised an extensive game strategy and was making the team practice even out in the freezing rain; in fact, he seemed rather happy about the rain, saying it would keep away any spies from Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Fred and George had started a betting pool on how long it would take after Wood finished school for him to be declared insane and sent to St. Mungo's.

Harry was about to knock on the office door, but the second before his fist hit the wood a drawling voice said, "He's answering a letter, Potter. I'd usually let you bruise your hand as much as you wanted, but the sooner he's finished the sooner I can be done with detention and get away from this lunacy."

"I'm surprised you didn't write to your father and get him to make Black stop giving you detention," Harry said, turning to look at Malfoy, who was standing in a shadow just past the door. "Or did you, and you found out that now that he's been sacked as a school governor he hasn't got quite as much power as you thought?"

"He has more power than you think, Potter," Malfoy retorted, narrowing his eyes. "But I don't blame you for not recognizing it. It's not as though you're used to power, after all, hanging around with scum like the Weasleys."

"Oh, the Weasleys aren't powerless," Harry said. "Had the secret chamber under the drawing-room floor cleared out by the Ministry yet?"

Malfoy turned even paler than usual; he had told Harry and Ron about the secret chamber last year when they were Polyjuiced into Crabbe and Goyle, and Ron had said later that he would tell Mr. Weasley about it. Suddenly Harry realized the stupidity of what he had just done. If for some reason the Ministry _hadn't_ been to the Malfoys', Malfoy would be sure to write to his father immediately and warn him.

To Harry's immense relief, Malfoy said, "You can't credit that to the Weasleys. Besides, we got off with a warning – just a nod to procedure. The Ministry know to leave my family alone."

"Really," said Harry. "Did you know your cousin Nymphadora's in Auror training?"

"She isn't my cousin," Malfoy snapped.

"Isn't she? See, I always thought that when your mum's sister had a kid, that meant you were cousins – thanks for telling me, though, Malfoy. Now it turns out my cousin Dudley isn't my cousin after all. Been wanting to get rid of him for years. How do you think your dad will like going to Azkaban? Maybe they'll give him Lupin's old cell."

"You – " Malfoy began, but at that moment Black opened the door.

"I'm rescheduling your detention for Monday night," he said to Malfoy. "Don't tell me you have Quidditch practice, I already checked. You can go."

The minute Malfoy's footsteps died away, Black said, "I completely understand the temptation, but _please_ don't ever bring Nymphadora into it again. She doesn't need any more difficulty in her life."

"Oh," Harry said. His own voice sounded very odd to him. "I'm sorry."

For some reason, he felt terrible. He knew Black was fond of Nymphadora and now he felt as though he'd hurt her in some way, and he didn't want to hurt her. He didn't want Black to be disappointed with him. He felt as though there was suddenly something dividing them into sides, he on one side and Black and Nymphadora on the other. He couldn't explain it, but at that moment he felt worse about Nymphadora than he'd ever felt about anything in his life.

"It's all right," said Black in a soft, gentle voice that almost made it worse.

After a second he said, "You know what, you're worn out from Quidditch practice and I'm worn out from keeping Malfoy in detention. Let's just relax for tonight – we can talk about Patronuses if you really want to get some work done. Come on, I made hot chocolate."

"You're allergic," said Harry.

"I know," Black said. "It's for you. Come on."


	27. Chapter 27

"So," said Black, once Harry had come inside the office, "ordered your new broom yet?"

As much as Harry wanted a new broom, a problem had arisen and he hadn't bought one yet. Colin Creevey's racing broom report included prices; a Firebolt, Harry had been stunned to learn, cost three thousand Galleons. How much money was in his vault at Gringotts, exactly? He'd never stop to count it, and although he knew it was quite a lot, he wasn't sure if he could spend three thousand Galleons and still have enough money to make it through four and a half more years at Hogwarts. A Nimbus Two Thousand cost two thousand Galleons; no wonder Snape had been so infuriated that Harry had got one free from the school.

"I'm not actually sure how much money I have," Harry said, sitting down in one of Black's red armchairs. "I thought that maybe over the Christmas holidays I'd ask Hagrid if he could take me to Gringotts – he took me to Gringotts the first time I ever went there."

"They are expensive," said Black. There was a small cauldron on his desk with a blue fire on a plate underneath it. He lifted the cauldron and poured Harry a mug of hot chocolate. "Here you are, be careful, it's rather hot."

"Thanks," said Harry. Even though he'd eaten more chocolate over the past few weeks than he'd ever eaten in his life, he was still eager to drink it; he hadn't quite got rid of the chill from outside. As he drank he felt the feeling return to his ears as his glasses steamed up.

"What did Malfoy do to get detention, anyway?" he asked after he'd drunk about half the mug. It was a blue mug with white curly writing on one side, saying something in another language; Harry didn't know much about languages, but he thought it might be in German. He wondered where Black had got it.

"He passed a note to Crabbe that contained several off-color remarks," said Black, sitting down in the other armchair. "I'm really not sure what his point is. By this time he knows I don't have any qualms about putting him in detention."

"Maybe he thinks it'll help him argue that you're being unfair," Harry said. "Or – I know, maybe he thinks that if he gets enough detentions, you'll have to talk to Snape as his Head of House and he can watch the two of you get in a fight."

"Do I seem that likely to fight with Snape?" Black asked. It looked as though he were trying not to smile.

"Well, Snape hates you," said Harry. "Stupid of him – it's not your fault Dumbledore asked you to be Potions Master first."

"Who told you that?" Black asked.

"Hagrid."

"Oh." Black leaned back and stretched out his legs. "Yes, Hagrid would know about that, wouldn't he."

"I saw him hug you at the train station at the beginning of the year," said Harry. "Does he remember you from when you were in school, then?"

"From then and from a few years afterwards, before I started traveling," said Black. "I used to go down to his hut sometimes on the weekends and see his animals – back then he had a Diricawl and a whole family of double-ended newts. I sent him a de-venomed Runespoor from Burkina Faso once after I started going to Africa, but apparently it made Fang go nearly out of his mind, so Hagrid sent it back."

A Runespoor, Harry remembered from _Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them,_ was a snake with three heads, sometimes only two if one head bit off another. He wondered what Hermione would say if she knew that Black had given as a gift an animal so dangerous that even Hagrid hadn't wanted it. He decided not to tell her.

Suddenly, as though he had conjured her up, Harry heard Hermione's voice in the corridor; he jumped, nearly spilling the rest of his hot chocolate. "Harry!" she called. There was a knock on the door. "Professor Black, I'm sorry, is Harry in there?"

Black went to get the door; the second it opened Hermione dashed in, followed closely by Ron. "Harry, you've got to see this," she said breathlessly, pushing her bushy hair out of her face. It looked even more wild than usual. "The mail owls just got in – I think they were delayed by the rain – and I've just got today's _Daily Prophet_, look – " She held up a section of newspaper and thrust it into Harry's hands.

**Lupin Sighted In Edinburgh**

_Remus Lupin, werewolf and escaped prisoner from Azkaban, was seen in Edinburgh yesterday night at approximately eleven o'clock on the Royal Mile. For his own safety, the name of the wizard who saw Lupin is not being released, though the Ministry of Magic tells the_ Daily Prophet _that they have no reason to think that this witness is an unreliable source._

_"That Lupin is appearing in such a highly populated area is alarming," said Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic. "The Ministry warns all residents of Edinburgh to be particularly cautious. We are hoping that Lupin's recent public appearance is a sign that his mind is unhinged and that he perhaps has forgotten to stay hidden. While this makes him potentially more dangerous, it also suggests that he may commit another error soon, hopefully one that leads to his capture."_

"Well, he won't _now_, anyway," said Ron. "If Lupin reads this he'll make himself impossible to find."

"You understand what this means, don't you, Harry?" Hermione said, still trying to catch her breath. "He's still in Scotland, he's staying close to you. Whatever happened that made him leave Hogwarts on Halloween, it didn't scare him enough to convince him to leave you alone. Promise me you won't leave the castle at all until they've caught him – "

"He can't, he's got Quidditch practice," said Ron. "Lupin's not going to get him when he's got a whole team of people – "

"Lupin wouldn't care!" Hermione cried. "He killed thirteen people before, he won't mind killing six to get to Harry, especially if they aren't fully-trained wizards – he can't go outside, he can't, he – "

"Sit down and take some deep breaths," Black said quietly. "You're nearly hysterical." There was a hard, steely quality in his voice that Harry hadn't heard since they had been on the train to Hogwarts and the dementor had come aboard.

Black got two more mugs from his desk and poured some hot chocolate for Hermione; he gestured for Ron to sit in the other chair. Harry was left standing. "It won't do anyone any good to panic," Black said, filling Ron's mug. "If we look at it from a logical perspective, Harry is in the same amount of danger as he was before. We already knew Lupin was in Scotland. Besides, if Lupin could do enough magic to escape from Azkaban, he's probably still able to apparate – he could be anywhere in the world right now. Harry's already doing everything he can to protect himself – "

"I'm not," said Harry. He couldn't believe he'd spent so much time reading about werewolf children and their problems when he should have been reading about the danger they possessed. "I should have been studying how to fight werewolves and not dementors, but I was too busy being stupid and worrying about what Malfoy'd say if I passed out again – Lupin's the one who's actually got into the castle, the dementors are outside. Lupin's the one who's after me specifically, not the dementors."

"You're putting too much emphasis on what he becomes once a month and not remembering that most of the time he's a wizard," Black said. "There aren't any special spells or techniques for fighting werewolves."

"Yeah, well, he probably won't go after Harry except during the full moon!" Ron said. "We found out what was in that goblet he left by the picture of the Fat Lady, we know he's taking Wolfsbane Potion so he won't go mad when he turns into a wolf. Why else would he want to take it if he wasn't using it to help him get Harry?"

"He'd have a better chance of killing Harry as a wizard than he would as a wolf on the Wolfsbane Potion," said Black. "He's killed thirteen people as a man, he's never killed anyone as a wolf, not even as a mad wolf. As a sane wolf he has no wand and no driving desire for human flesh. It's the rest of the lunar cycle you have to worry about, not the full moon."

"Hang on," said Ron. "He's a werewolf, with fangs and claws and all that stuff, and you're telling us we should just act like he's a regular person?"

"Yes," said Black. "A dangerous person, but a person nonetheless."

Ron looked at Black as though he thought Black had gone insane. "He's a _werewolf_!"

"If he's taking the Wolfsbane Potion, he's getting rid of the most dangerous aspects of his condition."

"Well, so what! He's already mad, he wrote Harry's name in blood on the walls of his cell – "

Black turned deathly pale. "How did you know that?"

"My dad, he works for the Ministry."

In all the commotion, Black had never given Ron his mug of hot chocolate; he set it down on his desk with a loud bang. "All of you listen to me," he said. Hermione bit her lip. "I won't deny for a second that Remus Lupin is a threat, but that's because he's a Death Eater who may have lost his mind. It's not because he's a werewolf. On the Wolfsbane Potion, he won't come for Harry during the full moon because he'd have better luck coming after Harry with a wand. If he stops taking the Wolfsbane Potion, he won't have the slightest idea who Harry or anyone else is – he'll go after the nearest human and never make it to Hogwarts. You won't help yourselves by thinking of him as a werewolf before you think of him as a dark wizard." He swallowed. "Now, I'm sorry, but I have to ask you to leave. I'm getting a headache."

"He _really_ believes that?" Ron said the minute they were outside. "He _really_ believes that Lupin being a werewolf doesn't matter?"

"He does have a point," said Hermione. "If there really aren't any special spells or techniques against werewolves, and if Lupin would have a better chance of killing Harry as a wizard – "

Ron shook his head. "I still say he's our best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," he said, "but it's like that time he told us he wasn't sure the snake was poisonous. I think maybe he's spent so long killing wild beasts for that apothecary that he doesn't even get that they're wild anymore. It's like having another Hagrid."

"I think – " said Harry. Ron and Hermione looked at him. "I think maybe he's right. I couldn't find anything in that werewolf book that said Lupin would be more dangerous than anyone else when it wasn't the full moon, and it makes sense, what Black said about the Wolfsbane Potion. Maybe we've been going about this the wrong way."

"I still don't think you should leave the castle any more than you have to," said Hermione. "I don't know, maybe you should quit Quidditch…"

"Hermione," said Ron, "if Wood ever hears you say that, he'll _never_ let you borrow his earmuffs again."


	28. Chapter 28

_Everyone but Harry has left to go on their last visit to Hogsmeade before the holidays._

"Harry, Harry, are you doing homework?"

Harry looked up to see Colin Creevey, bright-eyed and bouncing slightly in front of the common room fireplace. "It's just…stuff," he mumbled, looking away and turning the page.

"What sort of stuff? Can I help? I take the best notes of all the second-years, you can ask any of them. You can ask Ginny if you want, she borrowed my notes from Charms." Colin smiled widely and bounced a little more. It was beyond Harry how a person could be so constantly energetic and enthusiastic.

"It's stuff for Hagrid," Harry said. "His hippogriff is going to have a hearing – I told him I'd help him with the defense. It's really boring. You wouldn't like it."

Harry had gone with Ron and Hermione earlier that morning to see Hagrid, who was in tears. He had received a letter saying that although Dumbledore had convinced the school governors that Hagrid hadn't been responsible for Buckbeak cutting Malfoy's arm, the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures was taking over the matter. The name of the committee didn't give Harry much hope, but he'd promised to research past hippogriff cases and had gone to the library while Ron and Hermione went to Hogsmeade. Over the past few months, he thought, he might have spent almost as much time in the library as he did in his first year when he was searching for information about Nicolas Flamel.

Colin's eyes grew even brighter, if that were possible. "The hippogriff that cut Draco Malfoy?"

"Yeah, that one. Buckbeak."

"I _hate_ Malfoy," said Colin. "He says all sorts of mean things about you. Plus he's mean to Neville. I like Neville a lot, don't you, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said. The thought of Neville made him smile a little in spite of himself. "I do."

Before he knew it, Colin had sat down next to him and started flipping through indexes. "Oh, is this the history of other hippogriff hearings? Harry, look, it says that a hippogriff got off in 1972! That's good news, isn't it, Harry? I think Buckbeak can get off if we work hard enough and come up with a good defense. You'll save him, won't you, Harry? Harry – there's a piece of paper – "

Before Colin could finish his sentence, a crumpled-up piece of paper had zoomed through the air and hit Harry on the side of his head. He picked it up and flattened it out.

_Harry – Stained-glass window of Odelia the Odious, fourth floor, as soon as you can. Love, not Remus Lupin._

"Oooh, Harry, what is it?"

"I've got to go," Harry said, pushing back his chair. "I'm not sure when I'll be back – you don't have to keep working on this if you don't want to."

"Oh, I do want to! These are great books, I know I can find a lot of stuff in here. I'll take really great notes for you…"

As Harry climbed out of the portrait hole, he took his wand out of his pocket and held it out in front of him.

The east corridor on the fourth floor, where the window of Odelia the Odious was located, was completely deserted. Just as Harry was about to turn around and go back, he heard a melodramatically low voice coming from the end of the corridor. "Harrrrrry Pottttttter…"

"Peeves?" Harry said. "If that's you, I'll go and get the Bloody Baron – "

"Did you hear that, Fred?" said George, stepping out from just around the corner. "He thought we were Peeves!"

"You wound us to the quick, Harry," Fred said, following George. "We have _subtlety_. We have _nuance_. Peeves has loud noises and things dropping from the ceiling."

"So do you," said Harry, lowering his wand.

"Yes, but ours are the work of master craftsmen," replied George. "Anyway, enough about that. We are here, Harry, to bestow onto you the most brilliant piece of parchment in the entire history of the world. Fred?"

Fred reached into his pocket and took out a yellowing parchment, creased and folded several times over. As far as Harry could tell, it was blank. "This," said Fred, "is what has made our years at Hogwarts not only bearable but enjoyable. It is due to this piece of parchment that we were able to spectacularly execute the Dead Frog Hoax of 1989, the Pulsating Pus Prank of 1990, and the Supreme Slytherin Stakeout of 1992."

"Our three greatest accomplishments to date," George added. He took the parchment from Fred, unfolded it, and tapped it with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

From the center of the parchment, lines and dots began to appear, spreading outward like a spilled drop of ink. At the top of the page was written:

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_

_Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers_

_are proud to present_

_THE MARAUDER'S MAP_

"Who are they?" Harry asked, studying the parchment.

"No idea," said Fred. "Besides utter geniuses, of course. We stole it out of Filch's office, he'd confiscated it from someone else. You see that?"

He pointed to a dot labeled "Harry Potter", next to two other dots labeled "Fred Weasley" and "George Weasley".

"It's a map of the whole school, including where everyone is. See, look, there's Snape walking out of the library."

The dot labeled "Severus Snape" was indeed leaving the library, and turning in the direction of the stairs.

"Good," said George, watching the dot. "I was worried he was going to come over this way. Anyway, Fred and I have decided that the time has come for this most beloved of maps to change hands."

"We always thought we'd give it to Ron," Fred added, "but you need it more than he does."

"Don't you need it anymore?" Harry asked.

"Nah," said George. "We know everything about this school already. And besides – " he paused meaningfully " – _we_ have signed permission slips for Hogsmeade."

It took a split second for it to sink in. "Hermione's going to kill you when she finds out about this," Harry said.

"Doesn't matter, she wants to kill us anyway. If she does kill us, at least we'll have fully capitalized on our last days."

"Which reminds me," Fred interjected. "We have to meet Lee in about five minutes we want to pull off the Ultimate Treacle Trick of 1993."

"Right. We'll make this quick." George pointed to several places on the map. "These are all the secret exits out of the school. Don't bother with any of them, some of them used to work but this year they've all been blocked off. Filch must have finally found them or something. Your best chance is to go by floo powder from this classroom here." He pointed to a small room on the third floor. "No one uses it anymore, but the fireplace is still on the Floo Network. We pinched some floo powder from McGonagall's office – " Fred handed Harry a small clay jar with a cork top – "but we used most of it already to sneak out for dungbombs last month. You've got enough to get to Hogsmeade and back, but that's all. Say 'Honeydukes cellar' when you step into the fireplace and 'Room 314' to get back. Oh, and about the map – once you're done looking at it, tap it with your wand and say 'Mischief managed' and it'll turn blank again. Got all that?"

"Honeydukes cellar, Room 314, mischief managed," Harry repeated.

"Best of luck, then," said Fred. He winked. "Don't do anything we wouldn't do."

Room 314 was very cobwebby, with dusty desks standing on wrought iron legs. The fireplace looked as though it hadn't been cleaned in several decades. There was one charred log; Harry pointed his wand at it and said, "_Incendio_."

Almost at once, the fire began to blaze. Harry opened the jar and threw some floo powder on the fire. Fred and George were right; there was only enough left for him to get back. "Honeydukes cellar," he said as he stepped into the green flames.

Harry had never liked traveling by floo powder, but compared to the time he had used it to go from the Burrow to Knockturn Alley, this trip was very short. He came out at the other end dusty and slightly nauseous, squinting in the dim light. Overhead he could hear footsteps and voices. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that he had ended up at the right place; the room was full of crates and boxes, with names like Acid Pops and Peppermint Toads painted on the sides. There was a staircase directly ahead of the fireplace. He stood up, brushed himself off, climbed the steps and cautiously opened the door at the top.

No one noticed him at all. The shop was packed with students, chatting happily to each other and taking boxes of sweets off the shelves. Harry had never seen so many wonderful sweets in one room before. He was just about to investigate some Fizzing Whizbees when he heard a voice shriek, "_Harry!_"

Hermione was right behind him, looking positively enraged. "I can't believe it," she hissed, grabbing his arm. "Lupin's still in Scotland, you haven't got a permission slip – "

"Give him a break, Hermione," said Ron, who was chewing on something purple. He gave Harry a violet-toothed grin. "Lupin's not going to burst into a sweet shop on the off chance that Harry's there. Harry can't spend every second inside school, he'll go mental." He looked at Harry curiously. "How did you get here, anyway?"

"Fred and George," said Harry. Hermione groaned. "There's this map – " He explained about the Marauder's Map and the fireplace in Room 314.

"That's brilliant," Ron breathed. "Think of all the things we can use that map for. No wonder Fred and George almost never got caught. Just think, Hermione, you can sneak off to the Restricted Section in the middle of the night and know the teachers won't be there – "

"I will not," said Hermione, sniffing. "Harry has to turn it in."

"Turn it in!" Ron exclaimed, aghast.

"Yes, turn it in. How is this any different from Riddle's diary? It has a mind of its own and we don't know who made it. It could be dangerous – "

"Nothing's happened to Fred and George," said Ron, chewing on the last of the purple sweet as he spoke. "If it starts making Harry do things, we'll turn it in right away. You're not going to tell McGonagall, are you?"

Hermione swallowed. Harry could almost see the thoughts running through her head. "Well…if the map is really just a map…and if this is the only time Harry goes to Hogsmeade without permission – "

"I've got permission," said Harry. "Remember? McGonagall told me I had permission from someplace but I still couldn't go because of Lupin, or something like that." He had no idea where the permission had come from; surely Uncle Vernon hadn't had a sudden change of heart. Had it been from Dumbledore? Dumbledore had been the one who secretly gave him his father's cloak…

"Oh, all _right_," said Hermione. "But if you get in trouble over this, just remember that I told you – "

"Yeah, he'll remember," said Ron. "Now come on, let's show him the Jelly Slugs."

Harry left Honeydukes with an enormous bag of sweets; seeing as he hadn't brought any money with him, he borrowed some from Hermione, promising to pay her back once they returned to school. The wind outside was bitterly cold. The freezing rain had turned into snow, and although it covered the village in a very picturesque sort of way, they were all anxious to get inside. "Let's go to the Three Broomsticks," said Ron, pulling his scarf around his face.

The Three Broomsticks was a cheery sort of pub, filled with people and warmed by a roaring fire. Harry, Ron and Hermione managed to get one of the last two tables, right next to the Christmas tree. "I thought you were going to work on Buckbeak's defense," said Hermione to Harry while Ron was waiting in line to get them all butterbeers.

"I did," Harry said, rubbing in end of his thawing nose. "I got books out from the library and I started taking notes. Colin Creevey's working on it now."

"Harry, you can't make Colin do your work for you!"

"I didn't!" Harry protested, as Ron returned with three steaming tankards. "He wanted to do it, he practically begged me. You know how he is."

"Colin would fly to the moon if Harry said he'd fancy having a bit of moon rock," Ron agreed. "And he'd take pictures of the whole thing."

Harry lifted his tankard to take a sip, but just as he was about to do so he looked up and dropped the tankard on the edge of the table, where it fell to the floor.

Professor McGonagall was coming in through the door, followed by Hagrid, Professor Flitwick, and, to Harry's surprise, Cornelius Fudge. The only free table was the one on the other side of the Christmas tree from theirs. Harry dived under the table as Hermione held out her wand and moved the tree so that it blocked their table from view. "Just stay down there and don't move," Ron whispered. "They're coming this way."

From under the table, Harry could see Hagrid's enormous boots, McGonagall's small black heels, Fudge's brown lace-ups and Flitwick's tiny blue shoes walking toward the table. Flitwick was so short that Harry could see up to his chest; if Flitwick dropped something on the floor and bent over to pick it up, it would be over, he would be caught –

A pair of glittery turquoise heels appeared just as the teachers and Fudge were sitting down. "You've got the very last of my cocktail umbrellas, Filius," said a cheerful female voice. Harry could hear the sounds of glasses and tankards being set down on the table.

"Oh, a yellow one!" came Flitwick's squeaky voice. "How lovely. I think I'll save it and give it to my granddaughter for her dollhouse."

"Rosmerta, m'dear, come and join us," said Fudge. "That is, if you're not too busy…"

"Oh no, I think Kitty and Ellen have got things under control," said the woman called Rosmerta. "One minute, I'll just go back and grab myself a butterbeer…" The sparkling heels turned away and headed for the bar.

"Really, Cornelius," said McGonagall, sounding faintly amused. "Do your political opponents know you behave flirtatiously toward barmaids?"

"That's ridiculous, Minerva," retorted Fudge's flustered voice. Harry had a feeling he was turning red. "Rosmerta and I have known each other for years. And besides, even if I did – er – have any romantic inclinations towards her, Flora passed away five years ago."

"Hush," Flitwick whispered. "She's coming back!"

The glittery heels returned and Rosmerta sat down between Hagrid and Fudge. "I'm dying to hear everything about what happened with Lupin in Edinburgh, Minister," she said, slipping off her shoes under the table. "I would have thought you'd be there today."

"I was, m'dear, this morning," Fudge said. "The situation seems under control at the moment, so I thought I'd see how things were doing here."

"Those dementors of yours are keeping people out of my pub, that's how things are doing here," Rosmerta retorted. "There's hardly a soul in here after six o'clock."

"Very sorry, Rosmerta, but it can't be helped," said Fudge. "If Lupin attacked in Hogsmeade, your pub might have no business at all."

"So, who was it who saw him?" Rosmerta asked.

"You know I can't tell you that, m'dear. Confidential Ministry matter."

"Doesn't matter," said Rosmerta. She sounded very self-satisfied. "I already know it was Elphias Doge."

Fudge sounded shocked. "Rosmerta!"

"Oh, don't worry," Rosmerta replied. "I haven't told anyone. I only know because he's Kitty's great-uncle. It was her grandmother he was visiting there."

"Poor bloke," said Fudge. "Horrible shock for him. He's all right now, went home to rest in bed with a hot water bottle and some brandy."

"He'll be all righ'," said Hagrid. "Faced down three Death Eaters during the war once, came out wi'out a scratch."

"I don't suppose Sirius is taking it well," said Rosmerta. Harry wrinkled his forehead. Surely this Rosmerta didn't know that Lupin was Black's boggart… "I was hoping he'd be here with you. I haven't seen him since he came back to Britain."

"I asked him teh come," Hagrid said, setting down what sounded like an enormous tankard with a loud thunk. "Said he 'ad a 'eadache. Been havin' them all year, from the sound of it. Can't be easy on 'im. Still, he…" Hagrid's voice suddenly sounded as though he were trying not to cry. "He tol' me he'd heard abou' Buckbeak, said he'd try an' pull a few strings if he could, knows some people wi' connections to the committee…"

"There, there, Hagrid," said McGonagall. "I'm sure everything will be fine. Have some more mead." There was a long slurping noise.

"Very unfortunate for the poor man," said Fudge. "I always liked him, even if he did do foolish things like start a school for werewolves – "

"Excuse me," said Flitwick. His voice sounded unusually cold. "I happen to think a school for werewolves was a very good idea. In fact, I almost took a sabbatical from Hogwarts and taught there."

"You didn't!" Rosmerta gasped.

"I did. I even went to Germany and visited it. This was after Sirius had stopped teaching there and gone abroad. It's a very well-run institution with an excellent staff. I only gave up my sabbatical because that was the year there was the Uric's Fever epidemic on the continent."

"I'm surprised it's still running," said Rosmerta. "You'd think the bad publicity that came from having Lupin as a teacher would have shut it down."

"Not as long as there are still parents who want their werewolf children educated," said Flitwick.

_Currently serving a life sentence in Azkaban, Lupin previously taught Defense Against the Dark Arts at The Schwartz Academy for Lycanthropic Wizards in Berlin__…_

"I don't blame Sirius for giving it up and taking off for Africa," Rosmerta said. "Still, I've always wondered…why didn't he take Harry Potter with him? He is his godfather, isn't he?"

Harry froze. _His godfather…_

"Yeah," said Hagrid. "O' course he is, James's best friend and all. S'ppose he had his reasons. Can't drag a little boy all over th' world…"

"But there was no reason for him to take that job," Rosmerta pressed. "He could have taken something more stable – he could have not worked at all, given his money. I can't understand how anyone could leave a little boy to live with those horrible relatives Minerva's told me about. I've got a goddaughter, and I'd fight tooth and nail before I'd let her live with people like that."

"S'ppose he had his reasons," Hagrid said again, but his voice didn't sound quite as convinced this time. Harry felt sick to his stomach. Black had been his father's best friend…all those years with the Dursleys, he could have been living with Black…but for some reason, Black hadn't wanted him…he'd left him there, to be beaten up by Dudley and sleep in a cupboard under the stairs…

"I miss the four of them," said Rosmerta. "I used to have them in here all the time when they were at school, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. Such a shame what happened to poor Peter…"

"That was one of the saddest funerals I ever attended," said McGonagall. "And there were plenty of sad ones during the war. I was at the wake as well – the undertaker had tried to ease his face, but you could still see traces of the shock he must have felt. He was never any good at dueling, the poor boy, but – but he tried his best against Lupin anyway…and that's all anyone can ask, for a person to try their best…" There were tears in her voice, followed by the sound of her blowing her nose.

"Such an awful coincidence," said Rosmerta. "Peter being there when Remus blew up that entire street full of people, I mean."

Fudge's voice was low. "It wasn't a coincidence."

There was a silence. "_What?_"

"I'm only telling you this because it's a matter of public record, even if it wasn't publicized at the time," said Fudge. "Pettigrew had gone there to find Lupin. It's horrible enough that Lupin killed thirteen people, but he did worse than that, he betrayed his friends. He was the Secret-Keeper for Lily and James Potter."

"The what?"

"The Potters found out that You-Know-Who was after them," said Fudge. "They decided to go into hiding. They used something called the Fidelius Charm – I'm not entirely certain how it works – "

"A secret must be magically hidden inside of a single person," said Flitwick. "Unless the Secret-Keeper divulges the secret, it remains hidden forever. If it hadn't been divulged, You-Know-Who would have never found James and Lily, no matter how hard he looked."

"And Lupin was their Secret-Keeper," said Fudge. "The Potters originally wanted Black, but he'd already agreed to be the Secret-Keeper for his cousin Andromeda and her family – they'd just gone into hiding as well. It's too dangerous, having one person holding two secrets that important. So Lily and James opted for Lupin instead. They didn't know he'd become a Death Eater – perhaps they should have, but they didn't – "

"There was no reason for them to think he'd become a Death Eater," said Flitwick. "He'd been their friend for years, he was helping them fight against You-Know-Who. Just because someone's a werewolf – "

"Well, we'll agree to disagree," said Fudge. "Lupin betrayed the Potters to You-Know-Who. Sirius was in Germany, he didn't find out until after it was all over – "

"He lent me his bike," said Hagrid suddenly. "Two days before it all 'appened he lent me that flying motorbike o' his and went off to Berlin. They were back an' forth between Britain an' Germany all the time, those two. Dumbledore 'ad me deliverin' weapons all over England, I needed the bike teh carry 'em all. The minute I 'eard what 'appened to Lily and James, I flew straight over to Godric's 'Ollow, saw what was left of the 'ouse. Lupin was there. The filthy cowardly werewolf traitor had the nerve teh be there!"

"Keep your voice down," said McGonagall.

"He'd picked up Harry," Hagrid continued. "Had 'im picked up and wrapped inna blanket. He said, 'Here, give me Sirius's motorbike, I'll take Harry to him. Sirius is his godfather. You can apparate, I'll take Harry to Germany. He'll be safer there.' Safer! Lupin prob'ly woulda eaten him for a snack!"

Even Flitwick did not protest this.

"But no, I 'ad orders from Dumbledore to bring Harry to 'im. Told 'im I was sorry, I 'ad to do it, Sirius could get Harry from Dumbledore later. I ACTUALLY APOLOGIZED TO 'IM!"

"Hagrid!" said Fudge. "People are starting to stare."

"An' I told him I knew 'ow he must feel, with Lily and James dead! An' he started cryin'! The dirty son of a – "

"Hagrid," Rosmerta whispered. "We all understand, but _please_."

Hagrid began to sob.

"And before the Ministry could catch up with him, Peter Pettigrew had," said Fudge. "People who were there say he was trembling as he did it – he didn't even fight Lupin at first, he grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over to the side of the street and started talking to him. Maybe he thought he could talk sense into him, I don't know. But it was no good, Lupin pulled out his wand and blew up the whole street. It's amazing we had Pettigrew's body to bury, we only ever found little bits of some of the Muggles. His poor mother."

No one spoke.

"Well, I'm sorry we got into such a dismal conversation, Rosmerta, m'dear," Fudge said. "I have to leave. I'm having dinner with Dumbledore in about half an hour."

"It was good to see you anyway," said Rosmerta, slipping her shoes on again.

"We'll go with you, Cornelius," Flitwick said. "It's nearly time for the students to be coming back for dinner. Thank you very much for the umbrella, Rosmerta."

One by one, the teachers pushed in their chairs and left, Fudge following them. Rosmerta's sparkling turquoise shoes walked back to the bar. Harry heard the door close.

He rose from under the table, shaking as he sat down. Ron and Hermione looked at him. No one said a word.


	29. Chapter 29

"Harry," Hermione said hesitantly. It was an hour later and they were sitting in the common room; everyone else was at dinner. "I know you're angry – "

"Yeah," said Harry. He was lying on one of the couches, staring up at the ceiling.

" – but you really don't know Black's side of the story. Maybe you should ask him – "

"I don't want to ask him," Harry said. "I don't even want to see him. He left me with the Dursleys, Hermione!" He sat up. "I could have been raised by my dad's best friend, but he didn't want me."

"Harry – "

"Well, if he wanted me, he would have come and got me, right? But no, he thought he'd rather go off to Africa on his bloody motorbike and leave me at Privet Drive. Your parents love you, right? They hugged you and paid attention to you and cared about your teeth and gave you money to buy Crookshanks and all that. The Dursleys _hate_ me. They don't even let me eat until I'm full. I don't want to hear whatever stupid excuse Black has. He was all depressed because Lupin was a Death Eater and my parents and Peter what's-his-name were dead? Well, too bad!"

"I was thinking," said Ron. "Dumbledore gave you to the Dursleys, right? Maybe he wouldn't let Black have you."

"I doubt it," said Harry. "All Black would've had to do was ring the Dursleys' doorbell and say, 'Hello, my name is Sirius Black, I'm Harry's godfather, I've come to get him,' and they'd have shoved me out the door. Why are you on his side?"

"We're not," said Hermione at once. "We're just saying, maybe if you ask Black – "

"I'm not going to," said Harry. "He's – he's a _liar_, he told me all this crap about how in the anti-dementor lessons we had to deal with fears and we might end up learning some personal things about each other. I thought – " He didn't know how to say it. It wasn't that he'd forgotten that Black was a teacher, exactly, but he'd thought that he was something more than a student to Black. _And I am_, Harry thought. _I'm his godson, but he doesn't give a damn._ "His boggart's Lupin," he blurted out. Suddenly he wanted to tell Ron and Hermione every single secret of Black's that he knew; he almost wished he knew more to tell them. "And his Patronus is a dragon and he's got this brother named Regulus who disappeared. But no, he couldn't have told me he was my godfather, he didn't even tell me he knew my dad." A thought struck him. "I should have figured it out – he told me he was at school with Snape, and Snape and my dad were at school together, I should have realized they would have at least met. But I shouldn't have had to figure it out, he should have told me!"

"Harry," said Hermione, "I've been thinking. We heard Black telling Dumbledore about how he wanted to see the Mirror of Erised – he sounded desperate. Like it was something that's been bothering him for a long time. Maybe – maybe after your parents and Peter Pettigrew died and Lupin went to prison and his brother disappeared, he couldn't handle it."

"What do you mean, he couldn't handle it?" said Harry irritably. He wished Hermione would stop trying to made excuses for Black.

"I mean, maybe he wasn't well enough, mentally."

"Like what, he was a nutter?" asked Ron.

"Not a _nutter_, but – just think, Harry." Hermione leaned forward in her chair. "Imagine how you'd feel if, I don't know, I was really on You-Know-Who's side and told him where Ron was hiding and he killed Ron, and then Neville tracked me down and I killed Neville, and to top it off – "

"I haven't got a brother," said Harry.

" – and to top it off – Fred and George disappeared. And then someone handed you a baby and told you that you were in charge of raising him."

"I'm thirteen," said Harry. "Black was grown up, he was my dad's age and my dad had a baby."

"He couldn't have been very old," said Hermione. "Looking at him now, I don't think he's any older than thirty-five. But that's beside the point, anyone might not be able to handle it if all those things happened and then they were supposed to raise a baby, on their own, especially."

"It was him or the Dursleys," said Harry. "He couldn't have thought that they'd do a better job of it, he's not stupid. And okay, let's say you're right. He couldn't have visited? He couldn't have sent me presents for my birthday? He couldn't have stopped by and told the Dursleys that if they didn't buy me some clothes that fit and get my glasses fixed he'd hex them? He _abandoned_ me, Hermione. He just left me there. _He didn't want me._"

"Look," said Hermione. "I won't say I know how you feel – "

"Because you don't," Harry immediately replied.

" – but I can try to imagine it, at least, and it must be awful. But maybe if you talk to Black you'll find out something that will make it less awful."

"Or maybe he just didn't want me," Harry said. He didn't want to have to look at Ron and Hermione anymore; he lay back down on the couch. "If he wants me to know why, he can bloody well tell me himself. But he doesn't want to, does he?"

"Maybe he does," said Ron. "Maybe he just doesn't know how to tell you."

"He can find me and open his mouth and start talking, that's how he can tell me." Harry closed his eyes. He wanted to be able to forget about it all, but he knew that he couldn't. He wished he had never met Black in the first place.

"I should have figured out about the school," said Hermione after they had sat in silence for a minute. "The Schwartz Academy for Lycanthropic Wizards – Schwartz is Black in German."

"You know _German?_" asked Ron, incredulous.

"Not really – I went to German language camp for three weeks when I was nine, but I don't remember most of it. No wonder Black kept telling us that we should focus on Lupin being human, he used to teach a school full of werewolves. He must have had to hear a lot of things from people like Fudge about how werewolves were just dangerous beasts."

"He could stick up for them," said Harry hotly, "but he couldn't stick up for me!" No matter how hard he tried to close his eyes and block it out, the rage kept rising to the surface. He sat up again. He was angrier than he'd ever been in his whole life; he thought that if Black were to walk into the common room he would probably throw him to the ground and knock out his teeth and take a vicious pleasure in doing so.

"Harry – I still think you should – "

"Forget it, Hermione! Forget it! I'm not talking to Black, I'm not asking him anything, I'd skive off all his classes for the rest of the year if I could, _I don't want to see him._ There's _nothing_ he can tell me that'll make me forgive him, d'you understand that? Nothing! You know, I bet he did let Lupin into the castle."

"Harry," said Ron. His voice was low and alarmed. "You don't really think – "

"Yeah, maybe I do!" Harry could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest. "They were mates, right? They taught at that school together. What if he knew about Lupin all along and just never got caught? Malfoy's dad managed to stay out of Azkaban, Black could have done it too, he's got the money. How do we know he's not a Death Eater? Remember when he thought Dumbledore couldn't trust him?"

At that moment he realized what he had to do. "That's it, I'm going to go look at those records Snape told me about."

"What records?" asked Hermione, hurrying to follow Harry out of the common room.

"Snape told us that if we wanted to find information about Lupin, we should look in the published records of the Wizengamot from twelve years ago," Ron said.

"And you didn't tell me?"

"Why, so you could tell us that we ought to take Snape's advice?"

They kept arguing; Harry couldn't hear it clearly anymore, he had run on ahead of them. By the time he reached the library he could feel sweat on his back. For some reason, Snape's direction had stuck in his head: two shelves over and five shelves back from the section about werewolves. When Ron and Hermione caught up with him he had already found the enormous black book and was reading the entry about Lupin's case, his eyes moving quickly across the page.

_3 November. Case of Remus John Lupin brought before the court. Prisoner was not present; testimony given by Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, concerning his firsthand knowledge of the prisoner's involvement in the deaths of James Edmund Potter and Lily Evans Potter by serving as their Secret-Keeper. Eyewitness testimony given by Lucius Junius Malfoy concerning the prisoner's murder of twelve Muggles and one wizard, Peter Albert Pettigrew. Additional testimony given by Aurors Henry Robert Dawlish and Rufus Philip Scrimgeour concerning their investigation and arrest of the prisoner. Prisoner sentenced to life in Azkaban._

"He wanted me to know that Lupin betrayed my parents," said Harry. "Snape did."

"Evil git," said Ron, glaring at the book. "And, wait, Malfoy's dad saw Lupin kill those people?"

"I bet that was part of how he avoided going to Azkaban," said Harry. "Must have helped to be able to send someone else there."

"It doesn't say that anyone else gave eyewitness testimony," said Ron, scanning the page. "So they convicted Lupin because Malfoy's dad said so? This – this is weird, Harry. Since when has Malfoy's dad ever been on our side?"

"What, you don't think Lupin helped kill my parents?" Harry said, his voice louder than he meant it to be.

"I didn't say that! Obviously Lupin sold out your parents to You-Know-Who, it couldn't have been anyone else. But the Muggles and that bloke Pettigrew – okay, how easily can you see Lucius Malfoy doing it himself and then blaming it on Lupin to get out of Azkaban?"

"Easily," said Hermione, finally looking up from the book. "There are too many things wrong with this trial. First of all, I don't even know if it's really a trial, it doesn't look like Lupin got a defense. He wasn't even there. Second, that's all that had to happen for Lupin to go to prison? I'm not saying I don't think he betrayed your parents," she added hastily, noting the look on Harry's face. "But it's a horrible justice system. What if – I don't think this happened, but what if, for example, someone had bewitched Dumbledore and made him lie about Lupin's being the Secret-Keeper? What if it hadn't been Dumbledore who said he knew that Lupin was the Secret-Keeper, what if it was someone like Malfoy's father? Is that really all that has to happen for someone to go to Azkaban, someone in a position of authority saying they know who did it?"

"I guess," said Ron. "Wow, I hope I never get arrested."

"Lucius Malfoy could have killed those people," Hermione said quietly. "And he's still walking around free."

"He ought to be in Azkaban just for giving Ginny that diary!" exclaimed Ron.

Hermione looked at her watch. "I think that if we go to dinner now we might be there in time for pudding," she said. "You ought to eat something, Harry."

"Rufus Philip Scrimgeour," said Ron, glancing at the book as Hermione closed it and put it back on the shelf. "You don't suppose _he's_ Astrophil, do you?"

Harry didn't want to eat anything. When he was younger he had dreamed of some relative coming to take him away from the Dursleys; he had never imagined that such a person might exist and willingly leave him there. One part of his mind insisted that Black must have had a reason, but the other part knew there was nothing to justify it. Black hadn't been in prison or in hospital; he'd been traveling all over the world. Harry couldn't help but imagine what his life might have been like if Black had wanted him. He would have grown up rich, probably as rich as Malfoy. He would have been a part of the wizard world and never made to feel as though his powers were strange or abnormal. In his mind he saw a version of himself that had never existed, a little black-haired boy of about nine, sitting in a lavish parlor and reading Quidditch magazines. Perhaps Black was in the next room and about to call him to dinner. Perhaps Black ruffled his hair and told him he was just like his father, that his parents were great wizards and would have been so proud of Harry. Perhaps this little boy, having never known the Dursleys, having never slept in a cupboard beneath the stairs, went to bed every night smiling, knowing that someone loved him…

"I don't think Black let Lupin into the castle," said Hermione as they walked to dinner. "I know you're angry with him, Harry, but I don't think we have enough evidence that he did it. We shouldn't be like the Wizengamot and conclude that people are guilty without a proper trial."

"Besides, whose idea was it that Black let Lupin in?" added Ron. "_Snape's_."

"At least Snape is honest," said Harry bitterly. "At least he doesn't pretend that he cares about me when he doesn't."

"I think Black does care about you," said Hermione after a moment's pause. "He spent all that time giving you – "

Harry stopped at the top of the stairs. "Hermione," he said, "if you keep trying to make excuses for Black, I'm never speaking to you again."


	30. Chapter 30

It was, without a doubt, the worst Christmas season Harry could remember, even worse than the year that Aunt Marge spent the holidays at Privet Drive and kicked him out of his cupboard so her dogs could sleep there. The entire school smelled like wonderful food and the teachers had decorated the Great Hall with hundreds of gleaming ornaments, but Harry couldn't enjoy any of it. No matter what he did, he couldn't stop thinking about Black.

The most difficult thing was that one part of his mind – which sounded a lot like Hermione – kept insisting that Black had to have some sort of understandable reason for leaving him with the Dursleys. _Maybe the Dursleys really wouldn't let him have you_, it pestered Harry as he read about hippogriff hearings. He tried his best to ignore it. _Maybe some of Voldemort's old followers were after him and it was too dangerous for you to stay with him. Maybe he didn't have any money until his mother died and he was too poor to take care of a baby._ One thought more than all the others kept rising to the surface: _Maybe he's ill._

The more Harry thought about it, the more it seemed like a possibility. The night Black stood in front of the Mirror of Erised, his face had looked gaunt and almost unhealthy. He'd missed the Quidditch match because he'd had a headache, and later he'd ordered Harry, Ron and Hermione out of his office for the same reason. And hadn't Hagrid said that it sounded to him as though Black had been having headaches all year? What if the headaches were a sign of something more serious, something more dangerous? Perhaps after years of being ill Black knew he was dying, and he'd come to teach at Hogwarts so he could spend his last year on earth near the godson he'd never known.

Harry hated to let himself believe Black had an excuse; if he believed it and it wasn't true, he knew he would feel even more awful than he did now. But he had to admit that the idea made some sense, and if Harry stayed angry with Black and Black died without Harry ever having spoke to him, he would never forgive himself. Hesitantly, he told Hermione.

"Harry – I think you might be right," she said, setting down her quill. It was Christmas Eve and the two of them and Ron were in the common room by themselves. Except for Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys, the rest of the Gryffindors had gone home for Christmas, and Harry hadn't seen any of Ron's brothers or Ginny for the past hour. Fred and George had snuck out to Hogsmeade, and Ginny was upstairs playing with Crookshanks. Harry wasn't sure where Percy was – probably in his dormitory or the library. "I don't think we have nearly enough evidence to conclude that he's dying, but I think there's definitely enough that it's possible he's ill."

"Hermione, what's with you and this 'enough evidence' thing lately?" asked Ron, setting down the book he was reading about the Chudley Cannons. "Are you planning on going into Magical Law Enforcement or something?"

"I just think evidence is important, that's all," said Hermione. She opened her mouth to speak again but Harry cut her off.

"Look, I don't think this is definitely true," he said. "I don't even really think it's probably true – either way, Black should have at least let me know he existed. I'm not saying I forgive him for anything or that I really believe he had an excuse. It's just – well, if he did have an excuse and this was it, I'd never be able to tell him anything after he was dead. And I'm not asking him anything," he added. "Forget it. It's not happening."

Hermione chewed on her lower lip and looked up at the ceiling. After several moments had passed, she said, "Well, if that's the case and we want to find out the truth, I think we're going to have to break into Black's office."

Harry and Ron stared. It was as though Percy had walked through the door and announced he was quitting school to work on the Knight Bus with Stan Shunpike.

"Are you joking?" asked Ron, his voice hushed. "_You're_ telling us we have to break into somewhere? To a _teacher's office_?"

"Well, it's obviously very important," said Hermione. "And if Harry won't ask Black anything, I don't see how else we're going to find out any information. Besides, it isn't as though I've never done anything like this before. I got into Snape's office last year to take things for the Polyjuice Potion."

"Yeah, but that was because people were being Petrified!" said Ron.

"I helped sneak Norbert up to the tower so Charlie's friends could take him."

"That was so Hagrid wouldn't be sacked for having an illegal dragon!"

"Maybe this isn't as obviously urgent," said Hermione, "but finding out the truth means a lot to Harry and I think we should do it."

"Well, of course we should," said Ron, looking abashed. "I'm just surprised you're suggesting it, that's all."

Hermione took a fresh parchment from the stack of rolls on the table and spread it out. "We need a plan," she said. "First of all, we have to figure out when Black is least likely to be in his office."

"When he's teaching a class," said Harry, sitting down next to Hermione. "Only it can't be during our class, or else he'll wonder where we are."

"Whenever he's teaching a class we're in another class," said Hermione. "Maybe one of us could sneak out of Binns's class without Binns noticing, but I think we should all do it together, and even Professor Binns would notice three students missing at once. Maybe – never mind."

"What?" said Ron immediately.

"I had an idea but it wouldn't work. So if we can't do it during one of our classes – "

"What was it? Maybe it could work."

"It couldn't, Ron, so let's stop wasting time. I think our next best bet – "

"We can't even know what it was?"

"There's no _point_ in your knowing what it was!" Hermione looked flustered. "Our next best bet is during dinner."

"That's no good," said Ron. "You never know when he'll decide he's not hungry and go back to his office. What about the middle of the night?"

"We know he sometimes wanders around the school in the middle of the night. It's risky."

"Maybe that was only while he was looking for the Mirror of Erised," said Harry. "I don't know why he'd do it now."

"But that's the point," said Hermione, "we don't know. He could still have a reason to do it." She had written down every possible time on the parchment and crossed them all out. "I can't think of any time where we know he won't be in his office."

"Wait a minute," said Ron. "Do we know he's even at school over Christmas?"

Harry tried to think of the last time he'd seen Black. "He wasn't at breakfast this morning," he said. "I don't think he was at dinner last night either."

"He was at breakfast yesterday," said Hermione. "The teachers usually stay at school for Christmas, don't they?"

"Not always," said Ron. "Flitwick wasn't there last year. I bet he went to see that granddaughter he saved the cocktail umbrella for."

"Black has a cousin he gets on with," said Harry. "He's got a picture of her daughter Nymphadora in his office. He might go to their house for Christmas."

"We'll have to find out." Hermione wrote _Black's cousin?_ on the parchment. "Once we know when to break in, our next problem is figuring out how. Black probably keeps the door and the lock secure. It might be worth it to go in through the window."

"It's on the second floor," Ron said. "We'll never be able to climb it."

"We won't climb in, we'll fly up to the window."

"On whose broom? Harry's got killed by the Willow, you haven't got one and mine's at home. Plus it's worthless."

"We'll have to go to the broomshed first and take one of the school brooms."

"They're not always that good," said Harry. "A lot of them are really old. I think we'll all have to take our own, they'll never manage with three people on one at once."

"Maybe one person can fly up and let the other two in," suggested Ron.

"No," said Hermione, "that won't work. I think we ought to have a good escape plan, however we do it, and if we hear Black unlocking his office we won't all be able to get out the window fast enough." She breathed in sharply. "I've just remembered – Kreacher."

"What?" asked Ron.

"Black's house-elf. House-elves can apparate into Hogwarts – he could show up at any time."

"Yeah, but will he?" Harry said. "Black told me he doesn't like to use Kreacher more than he absolutely has to. I think Kreacher's living at Black's house, not staying at Hogwarts."

"We're just going to have to risk Kreacher," said Ron. "We can't do anything about him. So let's see…we've got to steal three school brooms, fly up to a second-floor window and hope we can get it unlocked, and do all this when Black's not in his office. We'll have to do it at night, if we're all on separate brooms we can't use the Invisibility Cloak. How about tomorrow?"

"What?" Hermione looked taken aback. "That soon?"

"It's our best shot at it," said Ron. "Even if Black stays at Hogwarts over the holidays, he'd have to be a real workaholic to be in his office on Christmas night."


	31. Chapter 31

Bringing Norbert to Charlie's friends had involved sneaking around the school late at night, and making the Polyjuice Potion had involved breaking into a teacher's office. This plan involved both. It wasn't the most dangerous thing they had ever done, Harry thought, but it might qualify as the most dangerous thing they had ever planned out in advance.

They had a stroke of luck in that Black was indeed gone from Hogwarts for Christmas. According to Hagrid, he had gone to visit his cousin – Andromeda, Harry assumed – and was due back on the twenty-seventh. Even more in their favor was the fact that Hagrid had told them this at Christmas dinner without their having asked about Black. If Black knew someone had broken into his office but didn't manage to catch them, he wouldn't hear that Harry, Ron and Hermione had asked about his whereabouts hours before the break-in occured.

Harry couldn't help but wonder what Hagrid would think if he knew that they were planning on breaking into his old friend's office. They had hidden things from Hagrid in the past – aside from the fact that they once thought he had opened the Chamber of Secrets, they had never let on how much they hated his cooking – but never something that Hagrid was sure to thoroughly disapprove of. Hagrid might drink too much and hide illegal dragons, but Harry knew that he would never go through a friend's things behind his back.

Still, Harry thought, even if Black was Hagrid's friend, he wasn't necessarily theirs. And unless Harry went and talked to Black, which he had no intention of doing, breaking into his office was their only way of finding out where his allegiances were.

Harry, Ron and Hermione stayed in the common room until midnight, Hermione working on her endless homework and Ron trying different charms to make his new Christmas jumper turn some color other than maroon. Harry tried to look through books for Buckbeak's defense, but he was too nervous to concentrate. Finally, at a few minutes past twelve o'clock, they climbed through the portrait hole and started down the stairs. Sir Cadogan, still filling in for the Fat Lady as the guardian of Gryffindor Tower, seemed to have gone off to another painting.

They had previously agreed that Harry would wear the Invisibility Cloak on the way to the broom shed; Ron and Hermione found out of bed in the earliest hours of the morning would severely annoy any teacher who might find them, but if Harry were caught out of bed it would surely lead to much more fuss. The cloak might have kept Harry hidden from sight, but it gave him no extra protection against the weather. Outside it was bitterly cold and windy, the branches of the trees tossing in the air. They had to be sure to stay in the shadows; there was a full moon.

Harry wondered where Lupin was at that very moment. Was he roaming around in search of prey, or had he locked himself inside somewhere so as not to be discovered? Perhaps he wasn't even in Britain; perhaps he was on a tropical island while Harry fought against the harsh winds.

Once at the broom shed, they picked the rusty lock and managed to find the three best broomsticks available to them. Harry's was decidedly wobbly, but it could fly over to Black's office window and that was what counted. As they ascended higher and higher, Harry noticed that Hermione looked slightly ill. He had never really thought about it before, but he realized now how little flying experience she had compared to him and Ron.

Slightly ill or not, Hermione was able to perch on her broom beside the darkened window and lift the latch. It was remarkably easy to get inside; most likely Black had never thought that someone might steal a broom in the dead of night, fly up to his window, and climb into his office. Harry was the last one in, careful not to knock over the ink bottle on the sill.

He had, of course, noticed Black's desk and armchairs when he had been in his office before, but until now he had never given much thought to the tall and full bookshelves that lined the walls. Memories of searching in the library came back to Harry; he thought he must have spent more time looking through books in just four months than he ever had in his life, even in his first year when he was looking through the library for information about Nicolas Flamel. How were they ever going to go through all of Black's things? Black must have used either magic or a stepping stool to get some of his books, because the shelves reached all the way up to the ceiling. The picture of Nymphadora on the wall smiled at Harry and waved. He gave a queasy smile back, feeling rather guilty.

"All right," Hermione said. "How about – Ron, you go through Black's desk, I'll start on the books, and Harry can keep watching the Marauder's Map to make sure no one's coming."

"If we don't all look through stuff, we'll never find anything," said Harry. "Someone only has to look at the Map every minute or so. I'll take the shelf on that end and you can take this one."

Ron turned out to have the most boring job of the three; after going through every single drawer of Black's desk, all he found were some graded seventh-year essays ("Percy got ninety-nine percent, it'll kill him"), ungraded second-year quizzes, several quills, a pink Muggle eraser, a couple of pencils, a box of paper clips, a few keys to unknown doors, two magically chilled bottles of butterbeer, an empty glass bottle, and, to Hermione's suppressed amusement, three elastic hair binders much like the one in her own hair. The only thing she found to be of note was the bottle. It was small and blue, with no label and a cork in the neck. "I think there's some kind of residue of something in here," she said, holding her lit wand next to it. "I wish we could send it to a forensics lab, or whatever wizards use instead of forensics labs."

After putting everything back exactly as he had found it – "if Black's anything like my mum, he'll catch on if it's one centimeter out of place" – Ron joined Harry and Hermione at the bookshelves. So far neither of them had found anything interesting. Hermione was shaking each volume in a set of encyclopedias to make sure Black hadn't left any papers between the pages, and Harry was searching through one of the most miscellaneous collections of books he had ever seen. Black had a book about wizard colonies in Spain next to one about practical housekeeping, followed by a Muggle book called _The Odyssey_.

"I bet we don't find anything," said Ron, resting his forehead against one of the shelves. "You know what we should have done? When Hagrid told us Black was gone until the twenty-seventh, we should have figured out where his bedroom was and broken in there instead. I bet that's where he's keeping everything secret. Why would he keep it in his office, when he's got Harry there for anti-dementor lessons and Malfoy there for detention? Don't get me wrong, I don't think we should give up, but – "

"I've got something," said Hermione suddenly. Harry turned. She was sitting on the floor, holding a wide black book in her lap. "I think this is all his financial information. He's written down everything he bought in the last year and how much it cost.

Harry glanced at the Marauder's Map, found that they were the only ones on the second floor, and quickly sat down next to Hermione as Ron sat on her other side. "Here, start at the end and go backwards," Harry said. His heart had started to beat faster. Hermione flipped the pages.

"He's got a lot of abbreviations in here," she said after a moment. "I'll read them aloud and you two can try and figure out what they mean. 'Guitar music for Nym' – "

"That's got to be his cousin's daughter, Nymphadora," Harry said. "I bet that's her Christmas present. Here, skip anything normal-looking, I don't care if he bought a toothbrush or gave Kreacher a new loincloth. Just look for anything medical or anything that cost a lot of money."

Black's December records were uneventful, but when Hermione turned to November she found a purchase of twenty-one thousand Galleons. "His handwriting's pretty bad. 'QQS, 7 FB for G', whatever that – "

"Give me that," said Ron suddenly. He grabbed the book from Hermione's lap and stared at the page. "Oh my God," he said after a few seconds had passed. His eyes had grown very wide. "He – "

"What?"

"'QQS, 7 FB for G' – " An irrepressible grin began to spread across Ron's face. "Quality Quidditch Supplies, seven Firebolts for Gryffindor."

"You're joking," said Harry at once. "Let me see – "

"A Firebolt costs three thousand Galleons, right? Three thousand times seven, twenty-one thousand. How many different things can QQS stand for? How can 'QQS, 7 FB for G' mean anything _else_? This is from late November, the Willow killed your broom near the beginning of the month and so Black went and bought – "

"I think there's a team in Ethiopia called the Gimbi Giant-Slayers," said Harry, blinking as he looked at the page. The shock was so great that he was hesitant to believe it. "Black used to travel in Africa, maybe he bought – "

"Oh Harry, don't be stupid!" It was clear that Ron was relishing a concrete reason to believe that his favorite Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher wasn't the selfish and neglectful godfather Harry suspected him of being. "They're a professional team, they'll already have Firebolts. Who doesn't have Firebolts? Who doesn't even have seven brooms at the moment? Who does Black's godson play for? Gryffindor! You're getting a _Firebolt_, mate." Ron grinned even wider. "Oh, and so's Wood – he's going to go mental with glee when he finds out. D'you think Fred and George will let me fly one of theirs? They'd better, the gits, they've got two between them. And Malfoy – _Malfoy_! Harry, you've got to tell me when you're going to take your Firebolt out for the first time, I've got to see the look on Malfoy's pointed little face when he sees it. He thinks he's so great because his dad's rich? Well, now Gryffindor's got a rich relative buying brooms for them. I can't wait – "

"Harry," said Hermione, "I understand why you don't want to hope for too much, but I think this might be a positive sign."

"Either that," said Harry, "or he's trying to buy me off."

He could not help but feel that if Black really wanted to make things right between them, he would speak to Harry in person and tell him so. Why would a man who used to travel the world and kill dangerous animals for potions ingredients be afraid to talk to a thirteen-year-old boy? Hermione, perhaps remembering what Harry had said about how he would never speak to her again if she made excuses for Black, didn't reply. "I'll keep looking in this," she said. "You and Ron keep looking through the shelves."

Harry looked at the Marauder's Map again, saw that they were still the only ones on the second floor, and returned to Black's countless rows of books. Upon reaching a set of potions encyclopedias, he followed Hermione's earlier example and shook each volume to see if anything fell out from between the pages. Nothing did.

Twenty minutes later, Harry was unsuccessful and exhausted. The time was nearing one o'clock and all they had found out was that Black had bought Firebolts for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, for reasons that had yet to be determined. "We ought to go," said Harry. "We aren't finding anything, and the longer we're gone from bed the more time there is for someone to figure out that we're not there."

Hermione looked up from Black's book. "But Harry, this is the only chance we've got to go through Black's office. Here, just sit down and rest for a few minutes and watch the Map. You're probably just tired of standing up."

Harry sank to the floor, leaning against the bookshelf. On the Map, he saw that Ron's brothers and Ginny were all in their rooms. Hopefully none of them would have any reason to knock on Harry and Ron's or Hermione's door. Madam Pince was walking up and down the aisles of the library, and Harry was only too grateful that they had not gone there tonight. He set the Map on the floor and leaned back. With the only light in the room coming from three wands, Black's armchairs looked like shadowy beasts lurking in the darkness. Harry squinted. There was something under one of the chairs…

He took the Map and his wand and leaned over to see. It was a thick brown book that had _Family Law in the Wizarding World_ stamped across the front. A piece of paper was poking out the top. Harry opened the book, removed the paper and read:

_Dear Mr. Black,_

_While the Court recognizes the veracity of the wills of James Edmund Potter and Lily Evans Potter and acknowledges your legal guardianship of their son Harry James Potter, we are unable to release him to your custody without your having undergone a complete medical examination by a healer appointed by the court. This is a standard procedure that the Court has in place to assure the welfare of orphaned or abandoned children. If you undergo the examination and are found to have no serious and/or easily transmittable diseases, we will promptly release Harry to your custody._

_Miranda Phipps_

_Family Court of Wizarding England, Section Two_

Below this message, someone had written, in different handwriting:

_Sirius – Look, I don't know what it is that you don't want them to find, but just to make one point clear – they'll still give you custody if you have VD provided you're being treated. Seeing as you won't give me any more information, I don't see what else I can do for you, but I would be glad to continue with your case should you change your mind. Best of luck. Brutus Swift._

"Hermione," Harry said quietly, "Ron, come and look at this."

The suspicion that had been both his best and his worst had been right. There was something medically wrong with Black that had prevented him from raising Harry, something serious enough that Black had not – and, most likely, still did not – want anyone to know about it. Yet it was something that enabled him to live in a school filled with students and teachers without transmitting it –

Ron and Hermione came over at once; when Hermione saw that it was a letter, she whipped out a small notebook from the pocket of her robe and began copying the text at once. "Blimey," said Ron, his eyes moving back and forth across the paper. "You're right, Harry – he's ill."

In light of this new discovery, Harry had not looked at the Marauder's Map in about a minute. He looked now and saw that they were still alone on the floor. But – a small dot was quickly moving down the staircase that connected the second and third floors. It seemed for a moment as though his heart had stopped beating. The dot was labeled "Severus Snape".

"Snape's coming!" he hissed, shoving the Map in Ron and Hermione's faces.

"Don't panic," Hermione whispered, hastily scrawling the end of the message. "All we have to do is be quiet until he's gone."

They sat in silence, all three of them staring at the Map. Snape's dot had reached the second floor and was about five rooms away. "We should go," Ron breathed. "We've found what we wanted, let's get out of here. _Nox_."

"_Nox_. He'll hear us opening the window!" Hermione insisted. "He won't come in here, we just have to be quiet – "

The dot continued down the corridor; Harry could hear Snape's footsteps from the other side of the door. They fell silent and the dot stopped right in front of Black's office.

"Under the desk!" Harry mouthed to Ron and Hermione. This was about the worst situation in which to take chances. He put the note back in the book, shoved it under the chair, grabbed the Invisibility Cloak and threw it over his back before picking up the Map and his wand and crawling to the back of the room, Ron and Hermione following as silently as they could.

Black's desk was the sort that had a column of drawers on either side of the space for the owner's legs, and one large piece of wood covering the front. The front was parallel to the door. Harry motioned for Ron and Hermione to get underneath the desk before crawling under himself. Once they were all squashed beneath it Harry covered them as best he could with the Invisibility Cloak. His was the only wand still lit; he shielded most of the light with his hand and craned his neck to look at the map.

Snape was still outside the door; to Harry's horror, he heard the clanking noise of a key ring being lifted and a key inserted in the lock. Hermione had gone very white. The key turned and Snape stepped inside.

Harry had known from the beginning that Snape hated Black, but he had never thought that Snape would actually break into Black's office. For there could be no other reason why Snape was there; Black would assuredly never give him permission. If Snape went to look inside Black's desk, they would escape unnoticed only by being completely silent. Snape's footsteps came near the right of the desk. "Steal from my stores," Snape was muttering to himself. "Steal it right back – "

So that was it. Snape still thought that Black had been the one to steal potions ingredients from his supply cupboard, and now that Black was guaranteed to be out of the castle for the next couple of days he had come to retrieve them. Harry's eyes watered slightly. It was so dusty under the desk.

Snape was lifting and setting down the glass bottles on one of the upper shelves, which Harry had seen but ignored because they all appeared to be empty. Snape, it seemed, had come to the same conclusion; he swore and began to take Black's books off the shelves and slam them back in again. When a few minutes had passed and Snape was still searching the same set of shelves, Harry realized that Snape intended to be just as thorough in his search as they had been in theirs. And that search was bound to bring him to the desk.

Hermione sneezed.

There was a horrible moment of silence, and then Snape's cold voice said, "Show yourself."

If they stayed where they were, Snape would assuredly find them all, Invisibility Cloak or not. Harry took a deep breath and stood up from beneath the desk.

Snape was wearing a very ratty gray dressing-gown and black slippers. "Ah," he breathed. There was a look of sinister delight on his face. "I should have known. Potter."

"What are you doing here?" Harry said.

Snape's dark eyes flashed. "An impudent question, Potter, coming from – "

"This is my godfather's office," Harry said. "Who d'you think he'll mind more being here in the middle of the night, you or me?"

It was a dangerous gamble. Snape had known that Lupin had betrayed Harry's parents; what else might he know that Harry did not? For the moment, however, Snape let it be. "And where are your faithful sidekicks Weasley and Granger?"

"In bed," said Harry.

"In bed – " Snape paused. "Or under the desk?"

"In bed. You can go look under the desk if you don't believe me."

"There are three brooms near the windowsill, Potter."

"Yeah," said Harry, doing the best he could to control his voice. "So?"

"Why, Potter, would there be three brooms in this office?"

"Dunno," said Harry. "I'll have to ask Sirius when he gets back." He had never referred to Black by his first name before, and it sounded funny to his ears.

Snape sat down in one of the armchairs, which, from what Harry could tell, was a bad sign. "So," he said. "The long-orphaned, famous Harry Potter has been reunited with his godfather at last. How very touching."

Harry said nothing.

"And he has explained for his long absence in your life?" Again, Harry was silent. "Answer me, Potter!"

"Sorry," Harry said. "I thought it was a statement, not a question."

"Ah. So Black has told you everything? Perhaps I should rephrase. Is it or is it not true that Black has told you everything about why, up until September of this year, you had no idea that such a person as Sirius Black existed in the world?"

"Yeah," said Harry, more boldly than he actually felt. "But I don't know if I should be sharing it with you."

For a moment he thought Snape was going to rise and slap him across the face. "I expect there are some things he hasn't told you, Potter. For example, his, shall we say, particular alliance with Remus Lupin."

Harry felt as though he were swordfighting on a moving slab of ice in a river, and that any moment he might be left with nowhere solid to stand. "He told me about it," he said. "But here's the way I see things right now. If you go and turn me in, you'll have to admit that you were here for no good reason in the middle of the night. I don't know who Dumbledore would believe, but Sirius'll believe my word over yours in a second. I think you ought to leave right now."

Snape practically leapt to his feet. "Never forget, Potter," he snarled, "never forget that I am a master of this school – "

"And you're still in my godfather's office," Harry said.

" – and you are a boy, an arrogant little boy who believes he may do as he pleases and suffer no consequences. Well, Potter, there are consequences in life that we cannot avoid, your parents learned that when they – "

"Shut up."

"When they trusted their lives to a werewolf! Your father was so like you, he thought he could ignore the rules and walk away unscathed, and where is he now? He's dead and cold – "

"Shut up!" Harry yelled. "You want to talk about my dad, you wouldn't even be here if it weren't for my dad! _You'd_ be dead and cold and you know what, I bet no one would be sorry, either!"

Snape looked as though he were about to explode with rage. "Detention, Potter! Detention on every Saturday from now until the end – "

"I won't go to your stupid detention! If you try and make me I'll tell Sirius everything that happened tonight, right down to how you insulted his best friend!"

They stared at each other, Snape's hand clenching the back of Black's armchair as though he were trying to strangle it. "Very well, Potter," he said softly. "But remember this – Black has no power over what happens in my classroom." He released the chair, strode to the door, slammed it behind him and locked it with such force that the sound echoed in Harry's ears.

* * *

Author's Note: Just so you don't spend time worrying about it: no, it isn't AIDS.


	32. Chapter 32

The room was still for a few moments before Ron and Hermione came out from underneath the desk. "He's down on the ground floor in Filch's office now," said Ron, looking at the Marauder's Map. "That must be where he got the keys from."

"Harry, I'm so sorry!" Hermione wailed. "He's going to make things horrible for you, and if I hadn't sneezed – "

"Any one of us could have sneezed," Harry said. "Come on, we should get out of here."

During the time they had been in Black's office, clouds had formed and covered the full moon. "If Sir Cadogan isn't back yet, we can't get to our rooms," said Harry, taking his broom from where it was leaning next to the windowsill. "And if he is back, he'll make too much noise before he lets us in, _if_ he lets us in. I think we should fly through one of the windows in Gryffindor Tower and bring the brooms back in the morning."

Somehow, the dark was less menacing than the full, bright light of the moon had been. "Snape'll really have it in for you now," Ron said as he slipped a pin between the common room window and its frame and lifted the latch. "More than he usually does, I mean. Harry, look, I think you ought to tell Black everything. He'll understand, and that way Snape can't tell him anything he doesn't already know."

"He can't tell him now anyway," said Harry. "Otherwise Black will want to know why Snape was in his office." The window swung open and they quickly flew inside. "I'm not going to tell Black, he's ill and he doesn't need anything else to worry about."

Hermione shut the window and sat down near the fireplace. "Black definitely wanted you, Harry," she said, taking the notebook from her pocket. "You do believe that now, don't you?"

"Yeah," said Harry, sitting down next to her as Ron sat on her other side. "I do."

"Maybe he hasn't been the best godfather, but I think he's trying to change that. If the book and letter were under one of his chairs, he must have been reading them recently. And he tried when you were a baby, he didn't just let you go to the Dursleys without trying to have the courts give him custody. I've seen Brutus Swift mentioned in the _Daily Prophet_ before – he's one of the best wizarding lawyers, maybe _the_ best wizarding lawyer. Black must have spent a lot of money trying to have you live with him."

"And even if he's sick," added Ron, "if he's still trying, he probably doesn't think he's going to die anytime soon. Here, let me see what that letter said." Hermione handed him the notebook; Ron opened it and read it again. "'No serious and/or easily transmittable diseases' – so if nobody else here is sick, it's something serious and something he couldn't hide from a healer. What's VD?"

"I was hoping you'd know," Hermione said. "I thought maybe it was some kind of wizarding sickness."

"I never heard of it."

"Well, then," said Hermione, "it's got to be – " She stopped and blushed.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I mean, I can't think of anything else it would be – "

"Sometime this century, Hermione," said Ron.

"It's got to be venereal disease," she finished. Harry and Ron exchanged puzzled looks. "Venereal disease – it's diseases you get from – from going to bed with someone."

"From going to bed with someone?" Ron repeated.

Hermione blushed even redder. "Ron, you _do_ know how people make babies – "

"Yeah, I know how people make babies! I just didn't know there were _diseases_."

"Well, there are, and they're not the reason why Black didn't raise Harry," Hermione said hurriedly, her face now the shade of a particularly ripe tomato. "Whatever he's got, it's something that's letting him live normally, at least most of the time – "

"Come on," said Ron. "Don't tell me you haven't figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

"He's a werewolf," Ron said. "And don't say anything about 'enough evidence' until I'm done.

"Okay, Black's got something that's dangerous enough that a court wouldn't let him raise Harry if they knew about it, but it's not dangerous enough that he can't live in a school full of people and give it to anyone. I know all about magical illnesses – every one of them's happened to someone in my family. Dragon pox is contagious, and so are fwooper pox and Uric's Fever. Plus Black would be sick in bed if he had any of those. But whatever he's got has to be a least a bit contagious, or else the court would figure, 'well, Harry can't catch it' and they'd give Black custody. What kind of disease lets you do all the stuff Black does?

"He must've had about five billion chances to get bit by a werewolf, between Lupin and the kids in their school. Especially because nobody'd invented the Wolfsbane Potion yet. So Black's teaching, and somebody bites him. He doesn't want anybody to find out because everybody minus Flitwick hates werewolves. Then Harry's parents die, and Black knows the what's-it-called – he knows the lycanthropy will be in his blood and if the healers examine him they'll find it. If he lets them examine him, he won't have Harry _and_ everybody will know he's a werewolf. If he doesn't, he just doesn't have Harry. So he hires this Brutus Swift bloke and tries to find a loophole someplace, but he can't do it.

"So he's got to leave Harry with the Dursleys. For some reason, he wants a job even though he's rich. Maybe the werewolf school reminds him too much of Lupin or something, so he quits there. With most other jobs, he'll have to take one day off work every month and people will catch on, so he's got to find something without regular hours. He goes to Africa, where he's out by himself. Then Dumbledore asks him to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts and there's Black's loophole, he can be near Harry without being examined. Only it's still too dangerous for people to know he's a werewolf. Especially because Lupin's just escaped. If Black tells Harry that he's his godfather, he's got to explain why Harry's never met him before, and he can't do that. So he doesn't tell him, he just looks out for him and helps him fight dementors. That stuff in the bottle was the Wolfsbane Potion. Of course he wants us to think of Lupin as a person and not a werewolf, _he's_ a werewolf."

It all made an amazing amount of sense to Harry; he thought it all through again and couldn't find anything that it left unexplained. Hermione, however, was less than convinced.

"You figured all this out in the fifteen minutes since we found the notebook?" she asked.

"Well, I thought a little about it before, you know, 'maybe Black's really a werewolf himself.' What, you don't like it?" Ron's voice sounded unusually guarded.

"If Black's a werewolf, why hasn't he missed any classes?"

"I don't know, maybe all the full moons were on weekends or when we didn't have class! Go look it up!"

"How do the headaches fit in?"

"He's under stress!" Ron rolled his eyes. "What else do you want? You talk about evidence, I gave you evidence. Name me one contagious wizarding disease that lets somebody fly a motorbike, Hermione. _One_."

"It could be a Muggle disease."

"Pureblood wizards don't usually get Muggle diseases. I've known at least one person that's had every single wizarding disease, and believe me, you can't fly a motorbike if you've got any of them. You're in bed scratching or sweating or being sick into a bowl."

"Well, we can find out soon if Black's a werewolf or not," said Harry quickly. "We just find out when the next full moon is and see if he shows up."

Ron and Hermione both looked at him. "Yeah," said Ron, his voice back to normal. "Whatever he's got, though, I don't think he's anywhere near dying. Look, I know you don't want to tell Black about Snape, but maybe you should tell him that you know he's your godfather and you've figured out that he's a werewolf. Saves him from having to decide if he's going to tell you."

"If he is a werewolf," said Hermione.

"If Black's gone during the next full moon, I'll tell him what I know," Harry said. "If he's not a werewolf, I don't know what I'm going to tell him."

With this decided, the three of them went up to bed. "Maybe you could live with Black after all," said Ron as he and Harry climbed the stairs to their dormitory. "He could just take you from the Dursleys and not bother to tell the courts. Hey, maybe me and Hermione could visit you over the summer! Where d'you suppose Black lives, anyway? Got to be a nice place, wherever it is."

"Yeah," said Harry. He thought of the imaginary boy, sitting in the Black's parlor reading Quidditch magazines, and smiled.


	33. Chapter 33

Harry found out from Hagrid the next day that Black had changed his plans; he wasn't returning to Hogwarts until the holidays had ended. Ron took it as another sign that his theory was right. "Maybe it was a really bad full moon," he said, leaning back in his chair. "He's got to rest and recover."

If Black had been planning to rest and recover, it seemed to work; he returned just after the new year along with the rest of the school and looked, Harry noticed, newly invigorated.

"Healthy enough to eat five sausages," said Ron, glancing over to the high table as he stirred his porridge. "No, he's just taken another one – healthy enough to eat _six_ sausages. Hey, Hermione, you don't want to bet on this, do you? I could use a little extra gold."

"I'm not betting on whether Black's a werewolf," said Hermione, whose eyebrows were raised high with disapproval. "We shouldn't treat it like a game."

Ron appeared to only be half-listening. "I bet he's still building up his strength again after changing into a wolf. Got to take a lot out of you, having your bones bend and everything."

They arrived at their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson later that day to find Black passing out new textbooks. "We're starting a new unit today," he said, handing a book to Hermione. "The use of blood magic in the Dark Arts. You don't have to pay for these books, I just want them back at the end of the unit with a minimal amount of damage."

"How was your holiday, sir?" Parvati asked. If Harry had had to make a guess about Parvati's holiday, he would have said that someone had given her new perfume; she smelled strongly like Aunt Petunia's lilac bush, an effect that was only heightened by her purple eyeshadow. Lavender looked at Black with great interest.

"It went well," he said, giving the last book to Seamus. "I spent it at my cousin Andromeda's house. All right, everyone sit down."

"Too bad we didn't do this unit at the start of the year," Ron whispered to Harry. "We could have saved all that time we spent in the library."

Black leaned back against the wall. "This is not going to be a particularly hands-on subject," he began. "It consists entirely of reading and study. Blood magic isn't the sort of thing you're going to encounter in your everyday life after you leave school; I'd be surprised if more than one or two of you had to deal with it at all. The subject typically isn't taught in schools for that reason – it has very little practical value. However, although learning about blood magic may not be a typical part of the curriculum at Hogwarts, it's very much a part of the curriculum, so to speak, of dark wizards. Therefore, I think it's important to at least have an understanding of the basics. It's not a tool that will most likely be used against you, but if it ever is, you'll be facing something very dangerous.

"Blood is at the very root of life. How many people here were raised in the Muggle world?" There was a show of hands. Harry looked around to see that besides his hand, Hermione, Dean and Lavender had raised theirs. Seamus held his hand flat and wiggled it from side to side. "You've probably heard of blood transfusions. People can live with no limbs, one kidney, or an underdeveloped brain, but no one can live without blood. Many groups of ancient wizards all over the world believed that injecting someone's blood into their own would give them that person's powers. Their experiments failed. I doubt you'd find a wizard alive today who believes there's any use in injecting another wizard's blood into his veins. After that phase, wizards theorized that stealing a small amount of another wizard's blood could give them control over him. They spent centuries making various potions involving blood that they hoped could give them that control, until the Ministry finally outlawed it in 1848. As far as I'm aware, no one has ever come up with a successful blood potion capable of controlling another person. But I wouldn't put it outside the realm of possibility. There have been a series of unrelated potion discoveries in just the last ten years that people would have thought at one time to be impossible."

Harry wondered if he was thinking about the Wolfsbane Potion. If there was a potion that could make werewolves safe, could there be a potion someday that could cure them altogether? Lockhart had once claimed to use a Homorphus Charm on a werewolf, but surely he had been lying. If Ron was right and Black was indeed a werewolf, perhaps he wouldn't have to be one forever. But if Black were to ever obtain custody of Harry, a cure would have to be found in the next four years or so, before Harry came of age…

"The main threat of blood magic is its ability to sap the life force. There have been a few documented cases of dark wizards performing spells on their enemies' blood in order to kill them, and succeeding. Blood magic isn't always damaging – a person's sacrifice of their own blood can protect others – but it has many damaging possibilities. No one's entirely sure how the wizards who killed their enemies with blood magic did it. The good side of that is that no one can read in a book how to do it themselves; the bad side is that although we know some of the elements involved, we don't know all of them and aren't fully aware of how to protect ourselves."

Harry approached Black at the end of class. "Are we still going to have anti-dementor lessons once a week?"

"Of course, if you still want to," said Black.

It was strange, standing near Black and knowing that Black was his godfather – knowing that Black had tried to have Harry live with him and might still be trying. Harry wanted to tell Black that he understood; he wanted to tell him everything, but he knew that he couldn't. "Yeah, I want to. Fred and George talked Wood out of scheduling Quidditch practice on Friday nights – "

"I could manage Friday nights," Black replied. "Eight o'clock as usual?"

"All right."

Black smiled. "How was your Christmas?"

"It was okay – Ron's mum made me another jumper."

"Andromeda bought me another motorbike jacket," said Black, and smiled even more widely. Harry smiled back.

The smile, however, was gone by the next day. Gryffindor had double Potions with the Slytherins.

It was clear that Snape, unable to give Harry detention, was determined to make his life miserable in any way possible. The first thing he did was announce that the class would have permanent, assigned table partners for the rest of the year. Harry, to his dismay but not to his surprise, was assigned to Malfoy. Ron was given Pansy Parkinson, Hermione was assigned to Crabbe, and Neville, who looked like he might start crying over the news, was assigned to Goyle.

"Snape gave you a decent mark on your Shrinking Solutions essay, anyway," said Neville on their way out of class. Snape had finally returned the essays and Harry had, amazingly, received eighty-two percent. He thought he knew what was behind it; Snape didn't want Harry to have any evidence to give to Black or Dumbledore that would show that Snape was being unfair to him. Snape wanted any complaints to come down to the question of his word against Harry's, without Harry having anything specific to point to.

"You did all right," said Harry. Neville had received seventy-one percent.

"Just barely," Neville said glumly. "Two more percents down and I'd have failed it. I'm not going to pass this class, Harry." He stopped walking and swallowed. "I'm going to be kept back, I know it. At least Colin Creevey's in that year and he likes me all right…"

"You're not going to be kept back," said Hermione firmly. "We're going to help you."

Harry wondered how Hermione planned to do that when every one of her waking hours was filled by classes, homework, or research for Buckbeak's hearing. Hermione, however, seemed to have a plan in mind; taking Neville by the arm, she led him up the stairs, Harry and Ron following.

Black was in his office, marking something down on a piece of paper. The book under the chair was gone. "Professor?" said Hermione. Black looked up. "I'm really sorry to interrupt you."

"That's all right," said Black, setting down his quill.

Hermione took a deep breath and launched into her speech. "Well, I know this is a lot to ask, but Hagrid said that you could have been the Potions master here, and Harry said that you used to collect ingredients for an apothecary, and I know you're very busy, but – Neville really needs some help with Potions. He's just barely passing it, and Snape hates him, he's not teaching him anything at all, and Neville's just a nervous wreck about it – "

"Hermione, shut up," Ron hissed. Neville had turned a deep shade of red and was staring at his toes.

"You don't have to help me," he mumbled. Harry was embarrassed for him. He knew Hermione just wanted to help, but he couldn't believe she'd gone about it so insensitively.

Black seemed to take it in stride. "I could help you if you wanted me to, Neville," he said. "I think it'll have to be on Saturdays, but it could work."

"I can't make you help me over the weekends," said Neville, and reddened again.

"You're not making me. I'm volunteering. I really and truly don't mind, I haven't had much of a chance to talk about potions since I came here and I miss it. Besides, I've always thought that anyone who's good at Herbology can be good at Potions."

Neville finally raised his head. "Really?"

"Oh, yes," Black replied. "When you think about it, it's the same sort of thing – you have to know when to tend to what you're working on, when to leave it alone, what to put into it, what to watch for – you'll be fine, Neville. I think you just need a teacher who genuinely wants to teach you something." He lowered his voice. "Don't tell Professor Snape I said that."

"I won't," said Neville, and actually smiled.


	34. Chapter 34

Stanton the Sanguine, 1672 – 1742, had studied blood magic and his enemies had died hours after Stanton received a shipment of puffskeins. Nelly Ab, 1798? – 1870, had gone down the streets of Oxford in an Invisibility Cloak, pricking strangers with a hatpin and later using their blood to nourish her begonias. "Look, here's Satyrdoro the Sensuous," Ron said, pointing to the middle of the page. "This is the weirdest stuff we've ever studied. It's more like scary stories than anything else." He waved his hands at Hermione. "Ooooh…Stanton the Sanguine and his murderous puffskeins are coming for you…"

"Oh, stop it," said Hermione, not looking up from her Herbology essay. "Everyone's been acting so silly since the Firebolts arrived."

The seven Firebolts had been delivered to the common room by enormous owls the night before, causing Katie Bell to shriek, Angelina Johnson to gasp, Alicia Spinnet to stare soundlessly, Fred and George to whoop and set off firecrackers, Colin Creevey to squeal, Seamus and Dean to grin nonstop for hours, Parvati and Lavender to look mildly interested, Percy to roll his eyes, and Oliver Wood to pass out cold on the floor. He still had a bump on his head, which at the moment he was nursing with ice on one of the couches.

"Well, if you don't like it you can go to the library," said Ron as Fred and George climbed in through the portrait hole, each carrying another six bottles of butterbeer. "Or you can go borrow some chain from Filch and use it to tie Crookshanks to the leg of your bed so he won't run around terrorizing poor Scabbers!"

Harry took a deep breath and looked resolutely down at his book.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Hermione.

"Look at him!" Ron took Scabbers from his pocket and shoved him at Hermione's face. "Look at his fur! He's going bald! He doesn't even want to drink his rat tonic anymore!"

"Maybe he has a skin disease," said Hermione.

"He does not have a skin disease, he's losing hair because he's scared to death of your bloody cat!"

"Hermione," said Harry, breaking his resolve, "you couldn't – it wouldn't hurt Crookshanks if he had to stay in your room while you were in classes, would it?"

"Yes it would," Hermione replied curtly. "He has to go outside to use the toilet."

Harry had a sudden image of a miniature porcelain toilet sitting at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and started to grin. "It's not funny!" Hermione snapped.

"Get a litterbox and put it in your room, then," said Ron.

"Yes, Ron, I'm going to put a litterbox in a room with Parvati and Lavender, what a wonderful idea."

"Well, do something so Scabbers can come out!"

"Why don't you put Scabbers in a cage?"

"He's an outside rat," said Ron. "Percy found him in our garden getting kicked by gnomes. Besides, he was here first, it's your cat that's the problem!"

"Crookshanks is not a problem!"

"Get a lead or something!"

"He's a cat, Ron, cats don't stay on leads!"

"Actually, I've got a neighbor back at the Dursleys with lots of cats," said Harry. "She puts them on leads and takes them for walks round the neighborhood."

"Well, then they must be very unusual cats."

Ron and Hermione were still arguing when Harry realized he had five minutes until his anti-dementor lesson. Glad to escape, he set down his blood magic book and headed for Black's office.

To his surprise, when he reached the office door he found it closed; he was about to knock when he heard voices inside.

" – said they tried you for being a Death Eater."

"Are you trying to ask me something?" said Black.

There was no response; Harry didn't want to stand right in front of the door in case it was suddenly opened, but he stood against the wall and put his ear as close to the sliver of space between the door and the frame as he could. Black had been –

"I was tried and acquitted," Black continued. "Whatever anyone in your family may or may not have told you, Draco, I have never been aligned with Lord Voldemort. That was Regulus's area."

"My mother said – she told me over Christmas – " Malfoy's voice was smaller than Harry had ever heard it before. "She said that since you two don't speak she never had the chance to ask – "

"And so she sent you as her messenger. Somehow that doesn't surprise – "

"She did not!" Malfoy was loud and angry now, but there was none of the usual contemptuous drawl. "I'm asking you on my own!"

"Never," said Black. "Not for one single moment of my life."

"My mother also said…"

"Yes?"

"Never mind," Malfoy muttered.

"Go ahead."

"She said that you and Remus Lupin were – were – "

There was a silence. "Your mother," said Black softly, "ought to learn to mind her own business and keep her mouth shut."

"Don't talk that way about my mother!"

"I've known your mother for far longer than you have and I'll talk about her any way I like."

"I could tell everyone, you know!" Malfoy's voice sounded closer to the door; Harry slid a few inches down the wall. "I could tell everyone about you and Lupin!"

"And then what would happen, Draco?" Harry had heard Black when he was angry, but never before had he heard him sound this menacing. "It would join all the other wild rumors about my life and be dismissed, especially if it came from you. Everyone in your year knows that you've been angry at me since September. Anything you tell them about me will sound like a lie you made up for revenge."

"You – you can't – "

"I'm only telling you the simple fact of the matter. It's eight o'clock, your detention is over. You're free to go."

"You're going to be sorry for this!"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure I will be. Goodbye."

The door flew open and Harry just narrowly avoided being hit in the face as it nearly smacked against the wall. Malfoy stormed out and, to Harry's amazement, turned immediately to the right without seeing Harry at all. His footsteps echoed loudly down the corridor.

Harry was just about to slide a few more feet down the wall and then walk up to Black's office as though he had just arrived, when he heard Black say, "Harry, I know you're out there. Come in."

Swallowing heavily, Harry stepped into Black's office. Black was sitting in one of the red armchairs. "How did you know?" Harry asked, and wished his voice didn't sound so nervous.

"The light under the door had two dark spots and then they disappeared."

The expression on Black's face was unreadable. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop," Harry said at once, though in all honesty he had. "I just came for my lesson and – look, I won't tell anyone anything, I swear. I know about you and Lupin – I've known for weeks, and I could have told anyone but I didn't – "

Black leaned forward in his seat. "What exactly do you know about Lupin and me?"

Harry's racing mind told him that he should leave out anything about his father. "I know you were mates during school," he said, wiping one sweaty palm on his trouser leg. "Then afterwards you started a werewolf school in Berlin and asked him to teach there. You didn't know he was a Death Eater. I – I heard some of the teachers talking about it," he finished. The last thing he wanted Black to think was that Harry had been going out of his way to find out things about Black's past.

Black exhaled slowly. "Yes," he said. "And as you heard me tell Draco, I was tried for being a Death Eater. Seeing as Lupin and I were close, the Ministry suspected me of being a Death Eater as well."

"And you weren't," said Harry decisively.

"No." Black gave him a small, rather sad kind of smile. "Regulus was, though. Everything about our family that I rejected, he swallowed whole. He was never very brave, though; if someone did kill him, I think it was probably the Death Eaters themselves. He could get too emotional sometimes. They probably would have seen it as a sign of weakness."

"Sir – do you think maybe Lupin killed him?" Harry asked. If Lupin had betrayed his friend and killed thirteen people, it wouldn't have been difficult to kill another friend's brother.

"I doubt it. Close the door." Harry did. Black sat forward even more, so that he was on the very edge of his seat. "I'm not even sure Lupin was a Death Eater in the proper sense. Oh, I believe he's guilty – there's no other alternative given the facts. But I wonder about whether he joined Voldemort because he believed what Voldemort believed, or because he was afraid of him. The thing you've got to understand about Lupin – I'm sorry. I shouldn't be burdening you with all of this."

"No, it's all right," said Harry. "If Lupin's after me, it'll help me to know more about him, won't it?"

"I suppose," said Black, and finally sat back in his seat. "The thing you've got to understand about Lupin is that he never relished being a werewolf. He didn't see it as a power or a source of pride. We were friends for all seven years of Hogwarts and for all of those seven years, all he wanted was to be like the other boys. He didn't want to be more and he didn't want to be less. He was made a prefect in our fifth year and he just about died from embarrassment; he didn't like being singled out in any way. I had a hard time convincing him to teach at the school I opened. He wanted to blend in, but he wanted to teach, as well, and that was the only time I ever saw his ambition triumph over his desire to be just like everyone else. He wouldn't have dreamed of ruling over Muggles or sitting at Voldemort's right hand. He would have dreamed of a nice pot of hot tea and a peaceful life. But then sometimes I wonder how well I ever really knew him. He was secretive – he always was. Still, I thought that I knew him in a way that no one else did…"

A moment passed, and then Black cleared his throat and stood. "All right, we're already fifteen minutes late in starting. Where did I put that box?"


	35. Chapter 35

_A few weeks later._

Harry woke one Friday morning to hear Ron shouting; he groped for his glasses and shoved them on his face. "Scabbers is gone!" Ron was yelling. "He was on my pillow last night and now he's not there!"

"He's probably under your bed," muttered Dean, pulling his blankets over his face.

"I looked there already!" Ron was in his shorts and undershirt, pulling his robe over his head. "I looked behind everywhere and under everywhere and he's gone!" Yanking open the door, he rushed down the stairs.

Harry had just sat up and put his feet on the floor when he heard a hissing and squealing coming from the common room. A heavy feeling in his chest, he grabbed his dressing gown and went out to the stairs.

Scabbers was running across the molding on the wall, the fastest Harry had ever seen him move; Ron was shouting and holding on to Crookshanks, who was trying to lunge at Scabbers as he hissed. "Hermione!" Ron yelled at the top of his lungs. "Get your cat!"

A moment later Hermione bolted down the stairs. Ron thrust Crookshanks at her, his face purple with rage. "Your cat was about one second from swallowing Scabbers whole! He had his mouth open and everything!"

Crookshanks leapt from Hermione's arms and raced upstairs to the girls' dormitories. "Well, if you want him to be safe you should keep him in your room!" said Hermione. She was already dressed for class.

"You know what I should do if I want him to be safe? I should give your cat to Hagrid, if he isn't too wild for him!"

It was not a good morning.

Snape was giving a quiz in Potions, which consisted of making a complete Energizing Elixir without looking at any directions. Neville whispered to Harry as they walked into the dungeon that he had spent his last two lessons with Black repeating the instructions over and over again. "I can do it now," Neville said. "Heat water for five minutes, add three ounces of plantain extract, stir four times counterclockwise, add four ounces of ground tangerine peels and five strands of fairy hair – "

"Professor!" Pansy Parkinson called out. "Professor, Longbottom and Potter are trying to cheat!" Malfoy looked delighted.

"They're not!" Ron snapped. Despite Harry's advice he'd taken Scabbers to class in his pocket, convinced that Scabbers needed solace and support after his terrifying ordeal, and now Harry saw the rat-sized lump in Ron's pocket squirm. "We haven't even started class yet!"

"Yes we have!" said Pansy, pointing at the clock. "We started twenty seconds ago!"

"Yeah, well, if we started, why were you filing your nails?"

"Silence!" Snape shouted, swooping bat-like from his desk to Ron and Pansy's table. "Everyone sit down!"

Pansy glowered at him, apparently irritated that he hadn't taken her side at once.

"There will not be a single word from any of you for the rest of the class. I want your Elixirs finished by the end of the period and there will not be one word, is that understood?"

Everyone shifted nervously in their seats, uncertain as to whether to agree out loud would be to disobey. Ron, it seemed, must have shifted too much, because a moment later a shrill squeal came from his pocket. No one spoke.

Snape stared down his hooked nose at Ron. "Weasley, what is that noise?"

Ron took Scabbers from his pocket, his hand trembling slightly.

Perhaps Snape was afraid of rats, or perhaps he had just not expected to see one in his classroom; either way, he stared in horror for several seconds. He was whispering something to himself; Harry strained to hear. "Can't…" Snape seemed to be saying, "not…"

The room was silent for a moment. "Get out your cauldrons!" Snape snapped. The class clamored for their supplies and ingredients. Snape dropped Scabbers on the table and marched back to his desk. Ron quickly stuffed Scabbers into his pocket and reached for a bottle of plantain extract.

"I think I did all right," said Neville happily once they were outside of the dungeon. "I remembered all the directions, but I think I stirred too fast."

"What was Snape whispering?" Hermione asked Harry and Ron.

"Something about 'can't' and 'not', I think," Harry replied.

Ron refused to look at Hermione.

By lunch, it seemed that Percy had somehow found out about Ron bringing Scabbers to Potions. "I cannot believe you actually brought that rat to a class," he hissed. "What were you thinking?"

"He was scared out of his mind by Hermione's cat!" Ron retorted. "Just because you didn't want him once you got your owl doesn't mean he doesn't need – "

"Oh, so he brought a rat to class," said Wood; he was rolling his eyes, but for some reason he was smiling at Percy anyway. "Big deal. Here, Ron, give it to me, I've got History of Magic next class, Binns won't notice. Rats like me. Right, Perce?" He nudged him in the ribs as though this were some sort of joke between them. Ron, oblivious, reached into his pocket and handed Scabbers to Wood.

"When did Percy and Wood get to be friends, anyway?" Harry asked Ron as they sat down at the Gryffindor table. "I mean, I know they're in the same year, but – well, Percy's Percy and Wood's Wood."

"People can have friends who are different from how they are," said Hermione. From the way she was nervously pressing her lips together, Harry got the impression she was trying to find some way to get back into Ron's good graces. "I'm – I mean – "

"Are you saying something?" said Ron coldly.

"I'm really sorry Crookshanks tried to eat Scabbers," said Hermione, so fast that the words ran together. "I should have fed him more so he wouldn't be hungry. But – if I try to keep Crookshanks away from Scabbers, you should try to keep Scabbers away from Crookshanks too – "

"I don't know how he got out of the room!" Ron said. "I mean, the door was shut and there's not enough room between the bottom of the door and the floor for him to get out. It's not like he can turn doorknobs."

"I don't know how Crookshanks got out of my room _either_," said Hermione. "I shut my door too." She paused for a moment and then leaned forward past Harry and Ron, looking at the head table.

"What?" said Harry.

"Black's not there," said Hermione.

"Really?" Ron looked at the high table too. "Yeah, you're right…that's weird. I looked up the date of the next full moon and it's not until Tuesday. Full moons don't last for five days, right?"

"Ron," said Hermione, "how have you ever passed your Astronomy exams?"

"I _know_ they don't last for five days," said Ron indignantly. "I just said that in case you were going to say – " his voice changed into a very credible imitation of Hermione's " – 'actually, Ron, there's a rare phenomenon known as Lunar Thingy Whatsit in which the full moon _does_ last for five days…' – hey, speaking of the full moon, this is your last chance to bet, Hermione. Black's not in class on Tuesday, I win, he is, you win."

"All right," said Hermione, to Harry's surprise. "If you win, I have to keep Crookshanks in my room until Easter. If I win, you've got to keep Scabbers in _your_ room until Easter."

Ron swallowed; Harry could tell he had not anticipated this turn of events. "Okay," he said after a moment. "You're on."

Black was not in their Defense Against the Dark Arts class either; instead, Flitwick was levitating books onto Black's chair. "Where's Professor Black?" Seamus asked him before Harry could.

"I'm really not sure," said Flitwick cheerfully. "Professor Dumbledore asked me at lunch if I could take over this class period – very last-minute, whatever it is. Now, what are you studying?" He climbed up the stack of books and looked at Black's lesson plan. "Oh, blood magic!"

Lavender raised her hand. "Professor Flitwick?" she said timidly. "Do you – if you were going to write an exam about blood magic, what exactly would you ask?"

Although Harry's class had spent the last few weeks very entertained by the various accounts of blood magic, confirmed or suspected, it was the general consensus that it was the least concrete subject they had ever studied, and no one could imagine how they would be tested on it. In the dozens of pages they had read there were only a few firm facts amid a great deal of conjecture. "Well, I'm not sure if I could write an entire exam," said Flitwick. "I'd make sure that you all knew the history of it – that's the important part, the history."

"But it's a history of things people aren't sure happened," said Hermione. There was a murmur of agreement among the rest of the class. "I mean, take Stanton the Sanguine. He studied blood magic, he got some puffskeins, and his enemies died. We're studying blood magic, but if any one of us bought some pet puffskeins and their enemies died – "

"And his or her enemies died, Miss Granger," said Flitwick, still smiling.

Hermione was thrown off-course. "What?"

"A 'one' doesn't go with a 'their', it goes with 'his,' 'her,' or 'his or her.'"

Lavender giggled, apparently pleased to see Hermione corrected by a teacher. "Oh, right," said Hermione, somewhat flustered. "But if any one of us bought some pet puffskeins and his or her enemies died, I doubt there would be a connection."

"Yes," said Flitwick, "but suppose you felt your skin being pricked during the night while you stayed with a puffskein owner! Then you'd find the knowledge very useful. It's always better to know something than to know nothing, Miss Granger. My goodness, haven't any of you been asking Professor Black these questions?"

"I wish I knew something about where Black is," Harry whispered to Ron.

Black was absent at dinner as well, but seeing as Harry had received no message that their anti-dementor lesson at eight was cancelled, he arrived at Black's office on time and knocked on the door. There was no answer. When he knocked a second time, a low voice replied, "Come in."

Harry opened the door cautiously. The room was completely dark except for the light of a solitary candle, which was nearly burned out. Black was sitting in one of his armchairs, his head in his hands. The gaunt look had returned to his face.

"Professor?" Harry said.

Black looked up. "They found a button from my brother Regulus's coat," he said. "In the woods half a mile away from where the Malfoys live."


	36. Chapter 36

"They were embossed with his initials," continued Black before Harry could say anything. Despite its desolate tone, there was something calm about his voice. "The woman who found it brought it home because it was pretty and her husband – she's a Muggle, he's a wizard – recognized the goblin-wrought silver. He took it to the goblins to see if they knew who it belonged to and they did. At the moment it's with the Aurors." With a flick of his wand, Black lit the candles and the darkness vanished. "It looks as though they're going to search more of the woods. I have no idea where this is going to lead – it could produce nothing or it could end with the Malfoys in Azkaban for murder. Either way, I want you to do something for me."

"All right," Harry said nervously, after a moment had passed.

"I realize this is something like an ideal scenario when it comes to your feud with Draco – "

"No, it's not," Harry said at once. "I mean, if your brother's – it can't be ideal for me if it's bad for you," he finished awkwardly.

Black gave him a small smile. "I don't want you to mention it to Draco in any way, shape, or form. Even if the Aurors don't find any evidence pointing towards the Malfoys, the fact that they're searching near their home is enough to make things very tense around here. It doesn't need to be worse than the Malfoys will make it. Understood?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Worse than the Malfoys and Snape will make it, I bet."

"Yes, I imagine Snape will want to use this for his own ends." Black took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

Harry sat down in the other red armchair. "If they found your brother's button, he could be alive, couldn't he?"

"He could," said Black, "but I doubt it. Who would he still be hiding from? The Ministry? If the Malfoys could manage to avoid conviction, Regulus could as well – I don't think he could have done anything worse than they did. Voldemort wouldn't trust Regulus with something enormously important when he had braver and more experienced people at his disposal. No, I think it's as I've said before – the Death Eaters realized he was more weakling than warrior and decided to get rid of a potential liability. The only thing that doesn't make sense is Narcissa…"

"Who?" asked Harry.

"Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother. Regulus's cousin. She has her faults, to put it lightly, but she's always been very loyal to her family, the non-disowned members, that is. Still, I suppose Lucius could have done it on his own and never let her in on the plan. Or Regulus could have tried to change sides, but there's very little probability of that. I never saw him doubt the notion that pureblood wizards were superior. No, I think he's dead. I've thought it for some time now and this doesn't give me any reason to change my mind."

A thought occurred to Harry. "But – the Malfoys are really good at getting away with stuff. Wouldn't they know better than to leave a button sitting around in the woods? I mean, if they killed him and buried him somewhere, they'd look at the body and realize the button was missing – " With a small jolt of horror, he realized how awful he must sound, and mumbled, "Sorry."

"That's all right," said Black. "It's a good point. Still, they're not flawless. Everyone makes a mistake somewhere and this might be the one that brings them down."

"Do you think that'll happen?" Harry asked. "They've got away with everything – "

"The Aurors who investigated them before are still in the department," Black said. "Except for Alastor Moody. The Malfoys are something of an old grudge for them and I think they'll do their best to put them in Azkaban. The odds are that the Malfoys are going to have a public scandal on their hands no matter what comes out of this. And the Malfoys fighting a public scandal are a force to be reckoned with, which is why I want you as far away from this as possible."

"They can't do anything to _me_, though, can they?"

"I don't think so," said Black, "but you're associated with me and I'm associated with Regulus, and the Malfoys never throw one handful of dirt when they can throw two. I'm trying to stay out of this myself – I want to keep this as the Malfoys versus the Aurors, not the Malfoys versus me. It's bad enough that I've already secured a firm place on Draco's list of enemies."

"You're not scared of Malfoy!" Harry exclaimed, and then wished he'd kept quiet.

"No, Draco doesn't make the list of the very few people I'm afraid of, but all the same, I'd rather not have the rest of the wizarding world reminded that I was tried for being a Death Eater and that I founded a school for werewolves and that I used to be friends with an escaped murderer. And I'm sure you'd rather not have the rest of the wizarding world reminded that you've committed offenses that would have got anyone else expelled from Hogwarts and that you broke the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction for Underage Sorcery twice."

"The first time wasn't me!" said Harry heatedly. "It was the Malfoys' house-elf!"

"They'll use anything they can. If I were you I'd avoid breaking school rules and getting on anyone's bad side until this whole thing is over."

"Yeah," said Harry, "just what I'm good at, not breaking school rules and staying off of people's bad sides."

"Believe me," said Black, "I sympathize."


	37. Chapter 37

"And Black thinks they killed him?" Hermione whispered.

They were in Harry and Ron's room, Harry sitting on his bed and Ron sitting on his own with Hermione. Neville was in the common room and hadn't looked up from his Potions book for hours, and judging by the intensity with which Seamus and Dean, at the table next to him, were debating the respective merits of the Appleby Arrows and Pride of Portree, it didn't look as though any of Harry and Ron's roommates were going to want to go up to bed anytime soon.

"He thinks at least one of them did, yeah," said Harry. "But he wants me to stay out of it – not mention it to Malfoy or anything. He thinks things might get really bad between him and the Malfoys."

"If they manage to get out of this one," said Ron, hugging his knees to his chest, "I think I'm going to be sick. They join You-Know-Who and get away with it, they almost get Ginny killed – "

"They might have framed Lupin for killing thirteen people," said Hermione, then quickly added, "even though he definitely betrayed Harry's parents. But they might not have killed Black's brother. I mean, there's no evidence he's even dead, is there?"

"Just wait," said Ron ominously. "The Aurors will find a dead body in the woods and the Malfoys will give a million Galleons to charity and that'll be the end of the whole thing." Suddenly he paused and grinned. "But if they actually do have to go to court, wouldn't it be great if it cost them so much gold that they had to sell Draco's Nimbus Two Thousand and One?"

The Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match was approaching swiftly, and Oliver Wood was keeping the Firebolts between practices to make sure they were safe. Although Harry hadn't asked Wood whether it was true, the rumor was that they was in an enormous iron box, protected by five spells, eight sets of locks and keys, and two padlocks.

"If the Aurors do find a dead body in the woods," said Hermione, "I can't imagine that Black would let the whole thing drop. They won't have been careless enough to leave the body in the woods, though, at least not as a body. They might have transfigured it. If I had to hide someone's body, I'd transfigure it into something really ordinary and then keep it in my house – a paper clip or a vase on the mantelpiece."

"Remind me never to borrow a paper clip from you, then," said Ron, giving Hermione a wary glance.

"Well, just think about it. No one's going to think to investigate whether a book on a bookshelf or an old ink bottle in a desk is really someone's body. Actually – if I had to hide someone's body, I'd transfigure it first and then I'd sell it to someone else. That way it would be harder to prove that I was involved in the person's death."

"If they did that, Regulus's body could be anywhere," said Harry, impressed by Hermione's theory. "They could have sold it to Burgin and Borkes so some other dark wizard could buy it. Or they could have sold it to a regular second-hand shop. Hey – you know what? If they did, I bet Dobby knows about it."

"Yeah!" said Ron, brightening. "I bet the Malfoys would be in Azkaban in a minute flat if Dobby ever told everything he knew about them. A _second_ flat."

"I'm sure the Aurors will question Dobby if they need to," said Hermione.

"Oh yeah," Ron replied, the smile fading from his face. "The Aurors."

Harry had figured from the start that it would be difficult for him not to gloat about Malfoy's family's impending scandal, but he hadn't reckoned on how hard it was for him not to rush off and try to solve everything. Did the Aurors even know about Dobby? If they did, could they find him? It was frustrating knowing that he, Harry, perhaps the person Dobby liked most in the world, could probably get Dobby to tell him everything about the Malfoys if he were allowed to get involved.

Ron appeared to be having similar frustrations. "Can't the Aurors just go into the Malfoys' house and search everything? On suspicion of, I don't know, general dodginess?"

"If the Aurors could search a person's house just because they suspected him, and they didn't have any evidence – "

"Yeah, yeah," Ron muttered. "They'd go in everyone's house and everyone would get shirty. But couldn't there be an exception for people who were really, really obviously evil?"

The next morning there was an article in the _Daily Prophet_ about how Regulus's button had been found; it was on the second page (an article about a possible Gringotts strike had taken the first) and didn't mention the Malfoys at all. It was hard to know how many people at Hogwarts had read it. Most of the students didn't have the _Prophet_ delivered, and those who did tended to go past the first few pages to read the sport articles and advice columns.

"'Dear Priscilla,'" Ron read aloud at breakfast. "'I am a girl at Hogwarts and I'm about to lose a bet to my friend.'"

"Give me that," said Hermione.

"'In three days I'll have to keep my deranged cat locked in my room until Easter. My question is, how do I tell my friend that the theory we bet on was brilliant and made sense from the start? Signed, Herm I. O. Knee.'"

"Ron, if you really sent that in I'm going to kill you – "

"He didn't," said Harry, looking over Ron's shoulder. "He's just making it up." Ron grinned.

"You can go ahead and laugh," Hermione said, "but it's not over until it's over."

Tuesday morning was particularly tense. Black wasn't at the head table during breakfast, and Ron was looking cheerful. "The bet wasn't about breakfast," Hermione reminded him. "It was about whether Black shows up in class."

"Why wouldn't he show up in class?" asked Lavender, who had apparently overheard them.

"Never mind," Hermione replied shortly.

"Because of his brother," said Parvati. "He disappeared years ago and they've just found a button from his coat in the woods."

"_Really_?"

"Really. It was in the _Daily Prophet_ on Saturday. They found it out in the woods in Wiltshire."

"Is he _dead_?"

"They don't know yet. They've got Aurors investigating."

"I hope he's not dead," said Colin, an uncharacteristically serious look on his face. "He's not dead, is he, Harry?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Harry asked, trying and failing to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

On his way to Potions class, Harry found that Pansy Parkinson was stopping people just outside the door. "Sign this," she said imperiously, shoving a piece of parchment at him.

Harry scanned the top. _Petition to End Assigned Seating_, it said.

"'We the undersigned are sick and tired of having assigned seats in Potions class,'" read Neville, who had come up just behind Harry. "'We move that they be abolished immediately because they just make everyone miserable.'"

Harry was surprised. He had never known Snape's house to turn against him before.

"What's the catch?" Ron asked Pansy. "Do we turn into flobberworms if we sign it or something?"

"There _isn't_ a catch," said Pansy. "I'm just sick of looking at you. I want to sit with Daphne."

"Does Malfoy know about this?" Hermione asked. That was what Harry had been wondering as well. He couldn't imagine Malfoy wanting to get rid of a chance to mock him every day.

Pansy exchanged nervous glances with Millicent Bulstrode. "Not yet," she said finally.

"Give me that," said Ron, and signed it with a flourish. "If it makes Malfoy miserable, I'm in."

By the time class started, everyone but Malfoy, who had yet to show up, had signed the petition and it was on Pansy's desk. The tension in the room was palpable. What was Snape going to do when he found out that the entire class, Slytherins and Gryffindors, were rebelling against his seating arrangements?

Before Snape could begin, Pansy raised her hand. "Yes, Miss Parkinson?" he asked. Neville gulped.

"Sir, we all signed a petition – "

If Snape was surprised at the news, he failed to show it. "A petition, Miss Parkinson? What, may I ask, does this petition concern?"

"We're sick of sitting with people we don't want to sit with," Pansy said. Though her voice had its usual haughty tone, Harry could see her hand trembling under the table. "We want things to go back to the way they were."

"I see." Snape took a long look at the rest of the class. "And all of you signed this petition?" No one spoke. "Miss Parkinson, it is immaterial to me how many people signed a petition. This class is not a democracy."

"But Professor – "

"That is enough!" Snape snapped.

Malfoy didn't come to class until the very end; he was followed by a short man with a pointy brown beard, who whispered to Snape as the students filed out the door. Harry couldn't tell what the man was saying, but Snape kept nodding.

"Parkinson's my _hero_," said Ron when they were on their way to Defense Against the Dark Arts. "She still looks like – oh, what are those ugly dogs – "

"Pugs," said Harry, who had often thought in the past that Pansy had the face of a pug dog.

" – but she's not a hundred percent rotten, anyway." They stopped just before the door. "This is it, Hermione."

"Well, go ahead and open the door, then," Hermione said, pushing a few strands of hair behind her ear. Ron took a deep breath and turned the handle.

Black was there. He had dark circles under his eyes, his hair was untidy, and he had one hand on his forehead as though he had a headache, but he was in class and he was definitely not a wolf. Ron's mouth fell open in astonishment.

"Do I look that bad?" Black asked, smiling wanly.

"No – no," Ron said at once. "It was just – nothing."

"It's only until Easter," Hermione whispered as they sat down, but Ron refused to look at her.

"I'm not exactly well at the moment," Black said when class had started. "Nothing contagious."

Harry glanced at Ron, who looked as though he had just found out that the Chudley Cannons were disbanded. Harry had wanted Ron's theory to be right too. He had said that if Black was a werewolf, he, Harry, would tell him everything he knew, but Black wasn't a werewolf and now he had no idea what to do.


	38. Chapter 38

_In Harry and Ron's room that evening._

"Give me that book," Ron demanded. "Let me see it."

"It's right here," said Harry. "'Though the full moon technically only lasts for a split second, werewolves remain in their wolf forms for approximately twelve hours, as the power of the full moon is potent and takes this long to release its hold – '"

"And the almanac says the moon wasn't completely full until four o'clock this morning," Hermione added. "So if Black were a werewolf, he couldn't have been in class." She swallowed. "You know, it was a really good idea, Ron. It made sense and everything, it was just that – "

"Yeah, yeah," said Ron. "So I'll keep Scabbers in here, then." He seemed to want to move on from the whole issue as soon as possible. "Isn't that book due back to the library yet?"

"Probably," said Harry, who had forgotten exactly when he had checked out _The Historical and Practical Guide to the Werewolf_. "I think I'll keep it for a little while more, though."

"Well, if that's what you want to do, you ought to renew it," Hermione said. "We could go now if you want – I'm going to try to find that blood magic book."

Professor Black had announced that the Defense Against the Dark Arts class was having a test on blood magic in another week. "What book?" Ron asked. "We already have the book, Black gave it to us."

"Not that book," said Hermione, watching as Scabbers curled up on Ron's pillow and fell asleep. "I want to find the one that was in the book shop in Hogsmeade. Black said no one had ever written down how to do blood magic, didn't he? Well, someone did in that book. There were things in there about herbs and sacrifices – the first part was just talking about it all in general, but I think there were some actual instructions in the back –"

"Hang on," said Ron. "You mean it actually said stuff like, 'in order to kill your enemy, take a vial of his blood and boil it with frog eyeballs – '"

"Well, I don't think there were frog eyeballs involved," said Hermione, "but something along those lines, I think…"

"Hermione, this could be a seriously dark book!" Ron exclaimed. "If Hogwarts has got it at all, it's probably in the Restricted Section, and we looked there already, remember? Why would you _want_ to find it? Besides, it's not even going to be on the test."

"You're right," said Hermione, "the library probably doesn't have it, I'll have to go to Hogsmeade and get that one. Blood magic's really important somehow, can't you see that? Lupin wrote in blood on the walls of his cell – "

"But he wasn't doing blood magic," said Harry. "You've got to have the other person's blood."

"He wasn't doing it to _you_, but how do we know he wasn't trying to do something to himself? Lupin wrote in blood on the walls of his cell, we got here and all the books about blood magic were out of the library – "

"Black probably had them," said Ron.

" – and even though blood magic's not something that's usually taught, Black's teaching it to us anyway. Oh, and Lupin's blood was by the picture of the Fat Lady and Harry said Snape said that some of Lupin's blood was on a railing, didn't he, Harry?"

"Yeah," said Harry, "but how do we know any of this is important? Lupin's probably gone mad, maybe that's why he cut himself. Black's not like other teachers, maybe he just wanted to try something new – "

"I could agree with you," Hermione said, "if Black and Lupin weren't connected to each other. But they are, and that's what makes me think blood magic is important. Black knew Lupin had cut himself, Black knew he'd left blood in Gryffindor Tower, and then suddenly Black starts teaching about blood magic when no one else has."

"As long as we're talking about blood," Ron said, "Black's awfully pale, isn't he? He looks like Snape really became a vampire and starting drinking his blood or something – "

"He was always that pale," said Harry. "Or at least he's been that way all year. Malfoy's pale too, it probably runs in the family. Speaking of Malfoy, did you two see – "

"That bloke with the pointy beard?" said Ron. "Yeah, I want to know who that was. I bet anything he was there about Regulus's disappearance."

"He's probably a Ministry official," said Hermione. "If he could take Malfoy out of class – "

"Nah," said Ron. "We're talking about getting Malfoy out of Snape's class. Snape would excuse Malfoy to go and get measured for new robes if Malfoy really wanted him to. Hey, you know what? I bet Parkinson would tell us if she knew who he was."

Hermione looked at Ron as though he had gone insane. "Ron, she hates us! And she and Malfoy – "

"I think they must've had a row or something," said Ron. "She knew he wouldn't be happy about that petition but she started it anyway. And if she purposely passed it around today because she knew he'd be out of class, she'd probably know _why_ he was out of class."

"She'd never do anything for Harry, though," said Hermione. "Even if they're both on Snape's bad side now, she's still a Slytherin."

"So she won't do it for Harry," said Ron, grinning. "Harry's supposed to be staying out of this whole thing anyway, right? I'll ask her, I've got the best chance, I'm still stuck sitting with her in Potions. She doesn't have to know why I want to know. I'll say something like, 'Oy, Parkinson, who was that midgety bloke with the beard, Malfoy's mum?' and she'll say, 'You're so stupid, Weasley, it was So-and-so What's-his-name…'"

"Oy, Parkinson!" said Ron in Potions on Thursday, before class had started.

"Hey, Malfoy," Harry said, hoping to distract him. "Heard this song yet? 'Oh, the Nimbuses are nimble and they'll help you catch the ball – '"

"You sound like a dying peacock," Malfoy sneered.

"You're such an idiot, Weasley," Harry could hear Pansy saying.

"'But beware, our brand-new Firebolts will decimate them all – '" Harry wanted to quit – he hated singing in public – but he wanted to make sure Ron had enough time. "'You'll be defeated, be destroyed, your hopes will all expire – '"

"Planning on swallowing the Snitch again, Potter?"

"'A Nimbus broom is just a broom – '"

"Quiet!" said Snape to the class.

Harry mouthed, "'a Firebolt is fire'" and glanced over at Ron, who gave him a thumbs-up.

"Have you got it?" Hermione asked after class as they sprinted up the stairs from the dungeon, hoping not to be overheard by anyone else. "Have you?"

"His name's Timarchus Hagen," said Ron. "He's their lawyer. I said, 'What, is Malfoy's dad filing suit against his hairdresser?' and she said my hair looked like someone vomited tomatoes on my head, and then Snape made everyone shut up, so I don't think she's got any idea that I really cared about who Timarchus Hagen was."

"They're nervous," said Harry. "Either that, or someone from the Ministry's already told them something about searching their property. Hey, Hermione, has anything about Regulus been in the paper since Saturday?"

"I've been looking," Hermione replied, "but they haven't reported anything else. As far as I know, the Malfoys haven't come into it yet."

Black looked a little better in Defense Against the Dark Arts; the circles under his eyes had lightened, and, with his hair back in a ponytail, he looked younger than usual. Harry remembered Hermione saying that Black probably wasn't any more than thirty-five. If that were true, Harry's parents hadn't been very old when they died, he realized – only in their early twenties, a few years older than Wood and Percy. No one had ever told Harry how old his parents had been when they died. He didn't know what they had done for work, or how long they'd been together before they got married, or even where exactly they were from.

"All right," said Black. "Professor Flitwick told me that you're worried about how you're going to be tested, but this test is going to be a lot easier than you think. What it's going to be is a list of statements – "

What was the worst that could happen, Harry thought, if he told Black everything he knew? He'd have to explain how he knew it, and unless Harry lied, Black was going to be furious that Harry had snuck out to Hogsmeade and later broken into his office. Harry didn't want to lie to Black, but he wasn't exactly looking forward to telling him those particular details. Still – if telling Black everything would bring them closer together, if it could help Harry to get away from Privet Drive, if it could lead to knowing more about his parents…

" – and you'll write down whether those statements are probably true or probably false and explain why."

"So," Parvati asked, "if the statement was something like 'you can't get another wizard's powers by putting his blood into you,' we'd say something like, 'this is probably true because ancient wizards tried it and it never worked – '"

"Yes," said Black, "that's a good example. Seeing as many things about blood magic haven't been proven true or false, your points are going to come from the quality of your arguments. Once we're finished with blood magic we're going to start a unit on identifying magical poisons and after that we're going to study various dark creatures, which will get us through the end of the year. Hopefully your next teacher will feel that you've had a broad base in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Wait," said Dean. "You're leaving?"

"Well," said Black, smiling slightly, "I don't intend to, but I don't think any of the previous professors did, either."

"You ought to have Professor Trelawney crystal-gaze for you," said Lavender solemnly. "If something's going to happen to you, she'll see it."

"It's a thought," Black said – Harry thought he looked as though he were trying not to laugh – "but Professor Trelawney hasn't liked me since I put a spider in her hair when she was a seventh-year. In any case, if I run into some unforeseen circumstances and can't come back to teach next year, a friend of mine's agreed to take my position. His name is Alastor Moody. You'll like him, he'll keep you awake."

"Sir," said Lavender suddenly, "sir, you should have Professor Trelawney crystal-gaze for you so she can find out what happened to your brother!"

A hush fell over the classroom. Seamus, Dean and Neville all looked confused; Harry guessed that they hadn't read or heard about the article in the _Prophet_. Hermione and Ron were staring at Lavender incredulously. Even Parvati looked embarrassed.

"For those who don't know," said Black calmly, "my brother Regulus disappeared several years ago during the war and last week someone found a button from his coat in the woods in Wiltshire. I'm sure the Aurors will settle the matter, Lavender, without Professor Trelawney's help."

Perhaps it was the way the rest of the class was staring, or the gentleness of Black's voice; either way, Lavender seemed to realize that she had done something wrong. Her face crumpled and she rushed out of the room, crying. Black immediately rose and went after her; in the quiet of the room, Harry could hear her sobs echoing down the corridor.

Hermione exhaled sharply. "As though Professor Trelawney could – "

"Oh, shut up, Hermione!" Parvati snapped. "She was just trying to help, just because you hate Divination – "

"If Professor Black wanted the whole class to know about his brother, he would have told – "

"Hermione," Harry muttered, "seriously, just leave it alone." Hermione's face flushed. She turned away from him and started quickly scribbling something on her parchment, refusing to look at anyone.

"You could have just laid off!" Ron told Hermione after class. Black had returned after a few minutes, while Lavender came back about ten minutes later, her eyes red but her face filled with a sort of determined dignity. "Like you never did anything stupid – "

"All right, I'm sorry!" Hermione exclaimed. "But she shouldn't have – all right, I suppose she knows that."

Back in the common room, Lavender was sitting on the couch by the fire, drinking a cup of hot chocolate and surrounded by Parvati, Katie, Alicia, Angelina, and Ginny, who had Crookshanks on her lap. "Are you okay?" Ron asked Lavender.

"She's fine now," Parvati answered; Lavender had just taken a sip of hot chocolate. "Black told her he knew she probably didn't realize everyone didn't know yet. He says they're going to find out anyway, so she shouldn't worry about it."

"Yes," said Lavender, swallowing, "that's what he said." She leaned over towards Ginny and scratched Crookshanks behind his ears. "This cat's sweet, isn't he? My mum says I can get another rabbit, now that Binky died, but maybe I'll get a cat instead."

"You can – er, you can hold him if you like," Hermione said. "Here, Ginny, let Lavender have him."

Harry and Ron went up to their room to get rid of their books, leaving Hermione with Lavender. "Sweet," Ron snorted. "The thing's a cold-blooded menace. At least Scabbers has – " They had just reached door to their room when he stopped.

"What?" Harry asked.

"The door's already open," said Ron. He rushed inside, dropping his books on the floor, "Scabbers? Oy, Scabbers! Where are you? I told everyone to leave this door shut – "

"It wasn't anyone who lives here, I don't think," Harry said, going to the head of the stairs and looking down into the common room. "Seamus and Dean got back when we did, and Neville's just coming in now. Here, see if he got in the – "

There was a startled cry; Harry ran back to the dormitory and looked inside. Ron was holding up a bloodied pillowcase, and Scabbers was still nowhere in sight.


	39. Chapter 39

If Scabbers's disappearance was a dark, heavy cloud, there was one silver lining: according to the Fat Lady, whose portrait had been reinstalled just the night before, Crookshanks had left Gryffindor Tower early in the morning and had returned in Ginny's arms just before Harry, Ron and Hermione came back from Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Harry was relieved. The Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw was approaching fast, and the last thing he needed was an enormous fight between Ron and Hermione. With Crookshanks's name cleared, however, every other pet in Gryffindor was on Ron's list of possible culprits, from Lee Jordon's tarantula to even Hedwig. Ron was most suspicious of Hermes, Percy's owl; according to Ron, Hermes sometimes tried to grab Scabbers when they were all at home at the Burrow.

"Fine, if he didn't do it, tell me where he was yesterday," Ron demanded. He and Harry were in Percy's room, while Hermione had exiled herself to the library. Harry had never been in Percy and Wood's room before; they were the only two Gryffindor boys in their year, and it seemed Wood had done most of the decorating. The walls were covered with Quidditch diagrams and posters of famous players, whereas the only thing that indicated Percy's residence was an enormous bookshelf filled with leather volumes.

"I assume he was in the Owlry," Percy snapped. "I don't keep track of his whereabouts every second of every day."

"Look, Ron, I'm really sorry about the rat," said Wood. He was lying on his stomach on his bed, which looked as though it hadn't been made in weeks. "But it's not Hermes. He'd never get in here, we haven't opened a window since October. Leave Perce alone, okay? He stayed up until one in the morning studying for N.E.W.T.s."

Harry barely heard him; he was looking at the wardrobes, wondering if one of them contained the rumored iron box that held the Firebolts. "Hey, Oliver, where are the brooms?"

"They're not here," Wood replied. "They're not even in the tower. They're in Cedric Diggory's room."

Ron stared. "They're _where_?"

"Cedric Diggory's room," said Wood, turning onto his side and yawning. "Who's going to look for them there?"

"You gave the Firebolts to a _Hufflepuff_ – "

"Trust me," said Wood, "Cedric Diggory is goodness and honor – Perce, what's it called when a person is sort of the essence of a thing – "

"Personified," said Percy.

"Yeah, he's goodness and honor personified. He felt like he owed us one because of the dementor thing back in November. Besides, they lost so badly to Ravenclaw that they're pretty much out of the running for the Cup. They'd have to beat Slytherin by some huge amount of points and they'll never do it, one of their Chasers is recovering from a broken arm. Diggory gets on with Chang, but if that affected Quidditch for them, she'd never have let Hufflepuff get slaughtered – "

"Wait," said Harry. "Who's Chang?"

"The Ravenclaw Seeker," said Wood. "Cho Chang. She can do lots of flips and turns, Harry, so watch out for – "

Ron was still in shock. "You gave the brooms to a _Hufflepuff_, who's _mates with the Ravenclaw Seeker_…"

"Ron, this is Oliver you're talking to," Percy snapped. "Think for a second. Is _Oliver_ going to do anything that would ruin Gryffindor's chances?"

"You know, I'm with you," said Ron to Harry, as they walked down the stairs to the common room. "How did Percy and Wood get so matey, anyway?"

Harry saw Cho Chang at breakfast a few days later; she was the dark-haired girl whom he'd bumped into in the corridor. She was very small, with tiny feet, and as she smiled at the girl next to her Harry saw that she had dimples. He couldn't stop looking at the way her hair moved when she turned her head. For some reason, he had a hard time thinking of her as an enemy; she looked too friendly, too –

"Yes, she's pretty," said Wood, who had noticed Harry staring. "Imagine that she's a troll if it helps you."

The Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match took place on the first Saturday in February. "Just remember, she's not going to cut you any slack," Wood said to Harry as they changed into their Quidditch robes. Harry put his wand in the pocket of the shirt he was wearing underneath; he wasn't taking any chances with the dementors. "She's friends with Diggory and she still wiped the pitch with him. And don't think we've got this match in the bag because we've got the better brooms – Diggory had a better broom than Chang and Hufflepuff still lost."

Cedric Diggory was waiting for them outside the changing rooms, carrying one end of the iron box while a friend of his carried the other. Even with a red nose and noticeably chapped lips, he was still remarkably good-looking. "The brooms are fine," he said; it seemed he was saying it more to Harry than to anyone else. "Even if I wanted to sabotage you, I couldn't get past all these locks."

"I know," Harry muttered. He had no idea why, but for some reason, it seemed he was always at his most awkward when Diggory was around. "That you don't want to sabotage us, I mean, not that you couldn't get past the locks – "

"I hope you win this one," Diggory said. "I've got another two years to win the Quidditch Cup and Cho's got another three. Besides, Gryffindor would've had the Cup last year if Quidditch hadn't been cancelled."

By the time Wood opened the iron box, most of the crowd had already arrived in the stands. As the team walked onto the pitch, Harry saw that the Ravenclaws were already assembled. "We're a couple of minutes behind schedule," said Madam Hooch. Cho Chang was smiling, but the rest of the Ravenclaws looked extremely annoyed. "Woods, Davies, shake hands. All right, three, two – one – "

Harry and his Firebolt shot straight up into the air; once he could see the tops of the trees in the distance, he zoomed downward and began searching for the Snitch. "Difficult match for Ravenclaw," he could hear Lee Jordan saying. "Not only were they defeated by Slytherin in their previous match, but their brooms are wildly outmatched by Gryffindor's brand-new Firebolts – "

"The commentary, Jordan!" said McGonagall.

"All right, Ravenclaw Beater Lammers sends a Bludger at Gryffindor Chaser Alicia Spinnet, narrowly misses – well done, Alicia – Spinnet passes the Quaffle to Johnson, Johnson passes to Bell, Bell flies straight at Ravenclaw's middle goal post, throws the Quaffle – Quaffle intercepted by Ravenclaw Keeper Stamoza – "

Cho Chang was circling the perimeter of the pitch, but Harry wasn't sure how much good it would do her; he stayed above the rest of the match, his eyes searching for the Snitch. Suddenly she took a sharp turn to the left and sped straight ahead, but Harry realized she was trying to fool him – he had spotted the Snitch near the Ravenclaw goal posts. He flew directly at it, but just as he was getting close he heard the familiar noise of a Bludger hurtling towards him and ducked. Cho made it to the goal posts, but by that point the Snitch had disappeared again.

"Gryffindor leading forty to twenty, Wood intercepts an attempted goal by Davies, Fred Weasley – no, wait, I think it's George – whacks a Bludger towards Ravenclaw Seeker Chang, Chang sort of somersaults around it – all right, I've got to admit, that was impressive – in the meantime, Johnson scores a goal, Spinnet retrieves Quaffle, passes to Bell, can Bell make this one – yes, Bell throws the Quaffle just past the tips of Stamoza's fingers – Gryffindor leading, sixty to twenty – "

Harry flew back and forth across the pitch five times, but the Snitch was nowhere in sight. Luckily for him, Cho Chang appeared to be having the same problem.

"Fred Weasley – yes, this time it's definitely Fred – hits a Bludger at Stamoza, Bludger grazes Stamoza's arm, he's bruised but still in action, Tast has the Quaffle – CHANG SPEEDS DIRECTLY TOWARDS POTTER, TRIES TO KNOCK HIM OFF HIS BROOM – "

Harry realized the threat just in time and zoomed upward just before Cho Chang ran into him. From twelve feet above, he looked down and she smiled. It was much easier thinking of her as an enemy now…

"Gryffindor leading ninety to forty, Stamoza's really off his game today, probably due at least in part to his arm – my sympathies, Bernie, but not really – Spinnet scores a goal, Gryffindor leading one hundred to forty, O'Neil whacks a Bludger at Bell, it hits Stamoza instead – all right, Bernie, now you really do have my sympathy – Potter speeds toward the middle of the pitch, Chang in fast pursuit – "

Harry was flying straight towards the Snitch when he saw them. Three dementors were standing on the pitch.

He grabbed his wand from his pocket and yelled, "_Expecto_ _Patronum_!" Cho Chang was slightly ahead of him, but the Snitch was flying away from them, and Harry had the better broom.

"Potter's in the lead, Chang is falling behind – "

Still holding his wand in his right hand, Harry reached out and caught the Snitch with his left.

Wood was ecstatic; the minute they had both landed on the pitch, he grabbed Harry and actually picked him up, an enormous grin on his face. "We've done it!" he yelled, his eyes shining. "You did it, we're going to win the Cup, I know it – "

"Put him down before you break his ribs, Oliver," said George, and vigorously patted Harry on the back. Harry could feel his face being squashed as Katie kissed him on one cheek, Alicia kissed him on the other, and Angelina kissed him on the forehead. Fred pushed George out of the way and shook Harry's hand so hard that Harry felt as though his arm were going to come off.

Several feet away, McGonagall was shouting at the dementors – only they weren't dementors, Harry realized. They were Flint, Crabbe, and Malfoy, who was climbing off of Goyle's shoulders and trying to untangle himself from the black hooded robe. "Detention every Saturday until Easter!" McGonagall was shouting. "Suspension from all extra-curricular activities, if I can manage it! This is the most despicable, underhanded trick I have ever seen in all my years as – "

"Better her detention than mine," said a voice from behind Harry.

He turned. Professor Black had come onto the pitch, wearing his leather boots and a moth-eaten Gryffindor scarf. "Congratulations," he said, smiling. "I was sitting too far away to see what form your Patronus took, but I think it was as close to fully-formed as it's ever been."

"Really?" said Harry, pleased.

"Harry, come on!" Fred shouted; the rest of the team was leaving the pitch. "Party in the common room!"

"Wait just a second," Black said to Harry. "I've got to tell you – it looks like this is an especially bad day for the Malfoys. Not only is Draco in detention until Easter, but the Aurors just got permission to search their house and garden."

"They _did_?"

"Every bit of property they own," said Black. "All the way down to the secret chamber under the drawing-room floor."


	40. Chapter 40

With the Ministry no closer to finding Lupin and the Gringotts strike averted, the investigation of the Malfoys was front-page news. Seeing as only a few people in Gryffindor subscribed to the _Daily_ _Prophet_, Parvati quickly became the most popular person in the tower when she offered to read all of the articles out loud to the entire common room every evening. The only one who objected was Hermione, who claimed it was impossible for her to concentrate on her homework when Parvati was reading out loud. She took to studying in her room, shutting the door and wearing Wood's earmuffs.

"Ginny, move that cat, will you?" said George. "Why isn't he upstairs with Hermione?"

"I don't know, I don't think he likes it up there," Ginny said, picking up Crookshanks and setting him down on her lap. "He's figured out how to open her door – it's got a handle and not a knob, so he just presses down on the handle and nudges the door open."

"That's how he got out that one day," Ron muttered to Harry. "We've got a doorknob, though – an animal couldn't have gotten in on its own, so somebody left our door open."

"Well, it wasn't me," said Seamus, overhearing. "Could you move down? I think we can fit one more person on this couch." Anyone who couldn't get a seat on a couch, armchair, or regular chair ended up having to sit on the floor or one of the tables, which no one wanted to do. "Hey, Colin, you can sit over here, you're skinny enough."

"Oh, thanks," said Colin, and wedged himself between Ron and the armrest. "Harry, when's the hippogriff hearing? I found loads of stuff over the weekend – "

"It's on Friday," said Harry. "Thanks, Colin – you really did a lot of work."

"I went to go see Hagrid," said Colin. Though the cramped state of the couch made it impossible for him to bounce, he was still wiggling his feet. "I gave him all the things I found. It's really interesting, maybe I'll go into Magical Law Enforcement. Do you think the hearing might get put off? Because the Malfoys are being investigated?"

"I'm not sure," said Harry. It was much easier to talk to Colin when he wasn't repeating Harry's name over and over again. "It'd be great if it was."

Parvati was standing by the fireplace, the _Daily_ _Prophet_ in her hand. "All right, is everyone ready?"

No one was. "Can we wait for Sarah?" asked one of the sixth-years.

"Hector got detention, he should be here any second – "

"Delia's just getting her knitting from upstairs – "

"Percy's not here yet," said Wood.

"All right, everyone gets two more minutes and then I'm starting," said Parvati, exasperated.

Ron looked up towards the staircase. "I know he was old and boring and everything, but…"

"Here's what happened, Ron," said Fred, who was sitting on the couch behind them. "Scabbers got really hungry, so he decided to eat himself – "

"Shut up!" said Ron, loudly enough that a few people turned to look at him. His ears were turning bright red.

"Okay, I was out of order," Fred said quickly. "But he had to die sometime, right? I mean, Percy was five or six when he found him, and he already looked a bit rough. How many rats live to be eleven or twelve?"

"Yeah, but where's his body?" said Ron. "Owls – " He swallowed. "Owls wouldn't have eaten his tail and everything, would they? And there wasn't any fur, there was just blood, so maybe something grabbed him and took off and ate him somewhere else, but – I want to know how in the bloody hell that door got open!"

"We're starting!" said Parvati; Percy had just come in and sat down next to Wood, and a blonde girl carrying pink yarn was coming down the stairs. "I don't care who's not here, we're starting right now.

"All right, there are two articles today, the first one's called 'Malfoys Forced to Open Secret Rooms' and it's by someone called Eugenia Darmon. 'Lucius Malfoy and his wife Narcissa were served with legal documents yesterday which required them to open any and all hidden chambers or cupboards in their manor. Members of the Auror Office, who are investigating Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy in the 1981 disappearance of Mrs. Malfoy's cousin, Regulus Black, discovered seven different secret compartments throughout the house, including one behind a fifteenth-century portrait of Mr. Malfoy's ancestor, Germanicus Malfoy, and one hidden by a false wall panel in the family's parlor. Since the commencement of the investigation, the Malfoys have been fined two thousand and ten Galleons for possession of illegal objects – '"

"That's probably like three Knuts for them," Ron whispered to Harry.

"' – found in their manor by Aurors.

"'According to a press release issued four hours before this edition went to print, written by Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office, "The first three days of our investigation of the Malfoy manor and grounds have alerted us to the vast time and energy a complete search will require. We are treating their property as the potential scene of a crime, and, accordingly, the Malfoys are not and will not reside in their house until this matter is ended." The family are currently staying in Suffolk with friends.

"'This investigation is far from the first time the Malfoy family has been suspected of criminal activity. In 1981, Lucius Malfoy confessed to having acted in the service of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, claiming to have been under the Imperius Curse.'"

"The what?" Harry whispered to Ron.

"It makes you do things you don't want to do," Ron whispered back.

"'The Ministry concluded that he was innocent of any purposeful wrongdoing – "'

Several people booed; someone in the back yelled, "Oh, _please_!"

"' – and he was never prosecuted. Though Narcissa Malfoy has never been directly accused of any Dark activities, her sister Bellatrix Lestrange has been in Azkaban since January 1982 for torturing two Aurors to the point of insanity.

"'Representatives for the Auror Office have refused an extended interview with the press, but they took a minute to confirm rumors that the skeletons of several house-elves were found buried near a gate.'"

There were gagging sounds.

"'The elves appeared to have died of natural causes and are not evidence pertaining to criminal charges.' Okay, that's the first one. The second one's called 'Regulus Black: The Man and the Mysteries' and Agamemnon Harrow wrote it. It looks like it's more of an opinion article. 'In the disappearance of Regulus Black, there is perhaps no mystery bigger than the man himself. Unlike his cousin-in-law Lucius Malfoy, who is well-known in political and charitable circles, and his brother Sirius Black, who became infamous in 1979 for founding a school for werewolves that at one time employed Remus Lupin – ' Wait, Professor Black did _what_?"

"Well, he didn't know Lupin was a Death Eater," said Harry at once. The entire common room turned to look at him; a few people were gaping openly. "And I mean, you can't help it if you're a werewolf, right? It's not like you picked to be one or anything. You're still yourself whenever the moon isn't full."

Several voices began to reply, but Parvati was having none of it. "You all wanted me to read this article, and I'm reading this article, so everyone be quiet! 'Unlike his cousin-in-law Lucius Malfoy, who is well-known in political and charitable circles, and his brother Sirius Black, who became infamous in 1979 for founding a school for werewolves that at one time employed Remus Lupin, Regulus Black is not a figure familiar to the wizarding public. The second son and youngest child of the late Orion and Walburga Black, he was employed as a research assistant by Horace Slughorn as Slughorn worked on an as-yet-unpublished potions guide. Based on the testimonies of several convicted Death Eaters, the Ministry considers Black to have been a follower of You-Know-Who, but even this much is technically uncertain. Regulus Black was never questioned by the Ministry or charged with any crime. At no point were those testifying as to his loyalties able to give the Ministry a solid charge to bring against him.

"'If the Malfoys are found to have killed Regulus Black, the Ministry will find itself in the situation of having to determine which of two scenarios is more probable. Presuming the Malfoys are guilty, did they kill Black because he was a Death Eater and they were somehow able to emerge from You-Know-Who's control and fight against him? Or did they kill Black because they were truly loyal to You-Know-Who and he opposed them? Alternately, it is possible that all involved were Death Eaters and Black was killed as punishment for some sort of error. Judging by the evidence so far, it seems unlikely that Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy would have killed him for reasons unconnected to You-Know-Who; both Black and Mrs. Malfoy were members in good standing of the Black family, and it has never been claimed there was any personal animosity between them.

"'Though it is unknown what the Ministry's search of Malfoy Manor may yield, the evidence against the Malfoys is currently flimsy. Regulus Black's found button indicates only that it was likely he was within the vicinity of their estate, a probable scenario which could prove entirely innocuous. Many more facts are needed before any kind of conclusion can begin to form – and, with Regulus Black silent, those facts may never come to light.' That's the end."

"That's stupid," said someone several seats away on Harry's left. "All the last one says is that they don't know anything."

"Except that Professor Black likes werewolves," said a wiry-haired boy sitting on one of the tables. "Forget his brother, how do we know _he's_ not a Death Eater?"

"He didn't know Lupin was a Death Eater!" said Harry. Once again, several people turned to look at him. "Dumbledore hired Quirrell to teach here, didn't he? He didn't know he was a Death Eater either – you don't always know."

"All right, maybe he didn't know he was a Death Eater," said Lee Jordan. "He still started a school for werewolves. Why would you want to teach a bunch of dark creatures?"

"It's not like they want to be dark creatures," Harry replied. He could feel his palms getting sweaty; he wasn't used to talking in front of this many people. "And it's not like they're vampires or dementors or something – most of the time they're just like regular people."

"Oh, right," the wiry-haired boy scoffed. "Regular people who grow fangs and want to eat people."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but the rest of the common room had grown bored with listening and people had started talking to their friends. "I'd love to see the Ministry get Lucius Malfoy on this one," said George.

"Watch," said Fred. "Three days from now they'll find out Regulus Black just took off for Jamaica after the war, and he's been sitting on a beach with no _Daily Prophet_ for the last twelve years."


	41. Chapter 41

Hermione was less than pleased that Harry had defended werewolves to the entire Gryffindor common room. "Look, I don't mean that it wasn't the right thing to do," she said, rubbing one eye with her fist. It was the next morning at breakfast, and she looked exhausted. "But do you really need something more to deal with right now?"

"Probably not," Harry replied. As he reached to take more blueberries for his porridge, a group of first-years halfway down the table quickly turned their heads away and started whispering to each other. "It wasn't like I planned on saying it or anything – I think I just got sick of all the stuff I'm not supposed to say, really. I'm not supposed to have a go at Malfoy, I can't tell Black that I know he's – "

"You could, you know," said Hermione, but Harry just shrugged.

When it came to Black's opening of a werewolf school, opinions among the other Gryffindors were decidedly split. Seamus seemed to regard Black more warily than he had before, but Dean took Black's affinity for werewolves as more support for the fact that Black was the toughest, coolest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor Hogwarts had ever had. Neville's views of Black seemed mostly unchanged, but he did mention that, according to his gran, his Great-Great Uncle Priam had been killed by a werewolf back in 1874.

Parvati, much to Harry's surprise, was squarely on his side. "You're right, it's not like they choose to be werewolves," she said to him in the common room that night. "I mean, why _would_ you choose to be a werewolf?"

"Well," Lavender said dreamily, "maybe if you were in love with a werewolf, and it was the only way you could be together…" Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I don't think it works that way," Harry said, raising his voice so it would cover Ron's sniggering.

Percy thought that it was very dangerous and irresponsible for Black to start a school for werewolves, which led Fred and George to declare that they intended to do the exact same thing after they finished Hogwarts. Though he was the twins' best friend, Lee Jordan still maintained that wanting to start a school for dark creatures was decidedly dodgy, which led to some noisy arguments in the common room. Ginny seemed to find the very idea of werewolves too frightening to talk about, while Colin Creevey decided they were probably misunderstood like hippogriffs. Angelina said she didn't care one way or another what Black had done before coming to Hogwarts, because he was a good teacher; Alicia thought teaching magic to werewolves would give them too much power; Katie told Harry that Black probably had good intentions, but she didn't think it was a very good idea; and Oliver Wood finally yelled one evening at Quidditch practice that he wished Black had never so much as met a werewolf, and if he heard anyone else talking about Black's werewolf school when they should be concentrating on defeating Slytherin, he was going to make them run extra reflex drills.

While the rest of the tower was preoccupied with the latest revelation about Black, Hermione had other things on her mind. "I need to borrow your invisibility cloak," she told Harry on Thursday night in the common room. They had just taken their blood magic test that afternoon – which, Harry thought gone much better than he had anticipated. "There's a Hogsmeade visit on Saturday and I'm going to get that blood magic book."

"Hermione, we just got _done_ with blood magic," Ron said, sitting down on one of the couches and spreading out his long legs. "Okay, let's say you're right, there's something important about blood magic that Black's trying to tell us. It's not in that book, he doesn't even know that book exists. Probably nobody knows that book exists but us and that shirty old bloke in the shop."

"All right," Hermione said. "You go ahead and take that risk. You're probably right, books aren't dangerous if only a few people know about them – just ask Ginny."

"This book isn't – " Ron began, but Harry interrupted him. "What do you need my invisibility cloak for?"

"In case they won't let me downstairs," Hermione replied. "If they won't I'm going to go out of the shop, put on the cloak, go back in and sneak downstairs."

"You're going to steal it?"

"Not really – I'll leave a few Sickles on the shelf where it was."

"They'll know it was you," Ron said. "A girl comes into a shop to ask about a book, the shop won't let her have it, and later that same day the book disappears?"

"I don't care," Hermione said. "They'll never be able to prove it. Once I've got it I'm going to transfigure it into a dental retainer and keep it with my toothbrush."

"Wait a minute," said Ron. "You want to use Harry's cloak to steal something – "

"I'm not really _stealing_ it, Ron – "

" – but you still don't think he ought to go to Hogsmeade? Even though he's got a signed permission form? I don't know, I think stealing something's a lot worse…"

Hermione looked flustered. "Well, we can't do both on the same visit," she said. "Either Harry goes to Hogsmeade under his cloak, or I take the cloak and use it to get the book."

"Not necessarily," said Harry. It had been nearly two months since he had been off the school grounds, and the warming weather was making him restless. "I put on the cloak, I take the Marauder's Map and use that fireplace to get to Hogsmeade. We go to the Three Broomsticks and I go into one of the toilet stalls. Once I'm in, I take off the invisibility cloak and give it to Ron – "

"Yeah," said Ron, seeing where Harry was going. "Then I go out of the loo while Harry stays and give you the cloak, and once you're done stealing the book – "

"I'm not stealing – "

" – and once you're done taking the book without permission and leaving money so you feel better about it, I bring the cloak back to Harry and he puts it back on. Look, Hermione, either you don't steal a book and keep the right to tell Harry off about sneaking out to Hogsmeade, or you steal a book and can't really say anything about Harry sneaking out to Hogsmeade because you did something worse yourself."

Hermione made one final attempt in her defense. "We all broke into Black's office – "

"Because Harry was going half mental trying to figure out what was going on," Ron said; Harry thought of objecting to "half mental", but changed his mind. "The only time we've ever actually stolen anything was when we made the Polyjuice Potion – oh, wait, we didn't exactly steal it together, did we? That was _you_ – "

"That was all of us," Harry said, before Hermione could protest. "We all planned it, Hermione was just the one who did it. Ron's right, though, Hermione – sneaking into someone's shop and stealing a book is a lot worse than going to Hogsmeade when you've got a signed permission slip. I'll help you, but you've got to lay off about the Hogsmeade thing."

There was nothing new about the Malfoys in the paper that night.

Buckbeak's hearing was the next day, and Harry, Ron and Hermione skipped breakfast to run down to Hagrid's hut and wish him luck. Colin was already there, feeding Buckbeak dead ferrets and looking quite unconcerned about the congealed blood dripping down his arm.

"Buckbeak's going to get off," he said cheerfully, holding a ferret by the tail as Buckbeak leaned forward to snatch it away. "If they don't let him off, they'll have to overturn about five other cases from the last twenty years, and they won't do it because they won't want to admit they were wrong. That's what Brutus told Hagrid, anyway."

"Brutus – Brutus Swift?" asked Hermione, surprised.

"Yeah, him!" Buckbeak swallowed the last of the ferret and stumbled off on his chained legs to a bowl of water near the front steps. "He's a really good wizard lawyer, Hagrid says – he can't be there in court, but he gave Hagrid loads of advice. Oh, and he read all my research, and he says that if I'm this good now, he wants to hire me once I finish school! He was just here a minute ago, you could have met him if you'd got here before. I don't know _why_ he can't be there in court – he and Hagrid aren't telling me. He really said he wants to hire me! I told you I took good notes, didn't I, Harry?"

"Yeah," said Harry, his voice faint. He wasn't sure which, but one of two things was true: either Brutus Swift was out of his mind, or Colin Creevey was a lot cleverer than Harry had given him credit for.

Hagrid came out of his hut, wearing a repulsive hairy brown suit with a purple tie. "Black loaned you his lawyer?" Harry asked quietly as Colin ran inside and came out with a pile of papers.

"Yeah," Hagrid said. "Tol' me he didn' want ter risk Brutus speakin' fer me in court, but he thought I'd do fine on me own. Got ter be better off than I was before, at any rate…Sirius was here las' night, stayed till midnight. Loads on 'is mind, but 'e still thought ter help me out…"

"Hagrid, it's eight o'clock!" Colin said, running up and handing him the papers. "You've got to be there by nine to get through security in time, remember what Brutus said?"

"Righ'," said Hagrid, and went to unchain Buckbeak. "Get back teh school, the lot o' yeh."

"Best of luck, Hagrid," said Ron.

"It's going to be fine," Colin assured him. "And if it's not, there's always the appeal. I've already started researching just in case."


	42. Chapter 42

"The War of Abernathy's Wart," Binns droned, "was fought between 1409 and 1412. The initial source of conflict occurred on the fourth of May, 1409, when Gerard Dupont, the nephew of the French Minister of Magic, visited a wizarding tavern during a trip to England and accidentally hit John Abernathy with a mug of ale. When Abernathy found that the mug had knocked the wart off his nose, he lunged at Dupont, the two fought, and both were eventually arrested."

A few people looked up. Lavender's gaze turned away from the clock; Dean wearily lifted his eyelids. A tavern brawl nearly six hundred years old was the most exciting thing to happen in History of Magic all year.

"Though Abernathy's wart was reattached to his nose – "

"They must have been _mental_," Ron muttered to Harry.

" – the French Ministry questioned the right of England to detain Dupont – "

The door opened and Professor McGonagall stuck her head in. "Professor Binns, might I borrow Potter for the remainder of class?"

Harry's stomach lurched. He exchanged looks with Hermione, and could tell she was thinking the same thing: Buckbeak's verdict must be in.

Binns nodded absentmindedly; Harry picked up his books. "Tell us the minute you can," Ron whispered. Harry nodded and followed McGonagall into the corridor.

"You have a visitor, Potter," she said, closing Binns's door behind them.

"I – wait, I've got _what_?"

"A visitor," McGonagall repeated. "He insists he must speak to you in private. You may use my office."

"Er, Professor – do you know who – "

"He declined to give a name," said McGonagall crisply, and started off down the corridor, Harry following her.

As he entered McGonagall's office, Harry could see no one else in the room. He waited for a moment, hoping to hear someone greet him, but the room was silent. "Hello?" he asked, warily shutting the door behind him. Surely McGonagall would never let someone use her office for a prank, especially not during a class –

There was a funny sort of hiccupping sound; Harry leaned over to look behind McGonagall's desk. Two enormous green eyes stared back at him.

"_Dobby_?!"

"Harry Potter, Harry Potter!" Dobby squealed, leaping to his feet and climbing on top of McGonagall's desk before Harry could stop him. Harry took a step back, but Dobby jumped up and clung to him with such force that for a moment Harry couldn't breathe. "Harry Potter, you are safe, sir, Dobby would not believe it until he saw it for himself – "

"Hang on," Harry said, his voice half-muffled by Dobby's arm. "What do you mean, you wouldn't believe I was safe? Here, sit down – I mean, if you won't start crying if I ask you to sit down – "

"No, Harry Potter, Dobby will not cry," Dobby said, releasing his arms from around Harry's neck and sliding down to the floor. No longer clothed in a pillowcase, he was wearing a sort of toga which, Harry realized after a moment, was made of several different-colored socks sewn together. "Dobby is too worried for Harry Potter to cry for himself!"

"Because of Remus Lupin?" Harry asked. "Or the Malfoys – you know about all the stuff that's been happening with the Malfoys, don't you?"

Dobby jumped up into a mauve-cushioned chair with a straight wooden back. "Of course Dobby knows, Harry Potter," he said, his eyes opening even wider. Harry sat down on a matching chair near the door. "The Ministry of Magic, they are thinking that Dobby's masters are murderers! And the Aurors, they – " His long nose crinkled and, before Harry knew what was happening, Dobby burst into tears.

"Dobby, what is it?" Harry asked, leaning forward. He wished he carried a handkerchief with him; Dobby was taking the bright blue sock off his left foot and using it to blow his nose. "Do you know if – I mean, did they – "

"Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter," Dobby said, wiping his eyes. "Dobby grows very sad when he thinks of – " He tucked the blue sock underneath his toga and looked right at Harry, tears still on his face. "The Aurors, they have dug up the graves of Dobby's parents, sir."

"Oh," Harry replied; he had no idea what he was supposed to say. "I'm – I'm really sorry to hear that, Dobby."

"Dobby's parents died many years ago, sir," said the elf, taking a deep breath. "But there is never a day going by when Dobby does not miss them – Dobby is an orphan like Harry Potter, sir."

"Oh," Harry said again. For the first time, he wondered how old Dobby was. "I didn't know that."

"Dobby's parents died when he was eleven years old, sir – many house-elves died that year because they were all getting sick." He blinked forlornly and stared into the distance.

"Listen," Harry said after a few moments have gone by. "I know somebody who's related to someone in Auror training – I'll have him ask her if she can get the Aurors to bury your parents again. I don't think there's any reason why they couldn't do it."

"This future Auror, sir, she is Nymphadora Tonks?"

"Yeah," Harry said a little surprised. He hadn't thought the Malfoys would talk about Nymphadora enough that Dobby would know what she wanted to do for a living. "How – "

"And the man who is related to her, he is Sirius Black?"

"Yeah, he's – "

"Harry Potter must not do it!" Dobby shouted, so vigorously that the chair moved. "Harry Potter must stay away from Sirius Black as much as he can!"

"Dobby, why – "

"Harry Potter must listen to Dobby, sir," Dobby said, lowering his voice. "Dobby knew Sirius Black a very long time, sir, since Sirius Black was still welcome to visit Dobby's masters. Dobby was seven years old when Sirius Black was born. Dobby's master began to court Dobby's mistress when Dobby was seventeen years old, and that was the year when Dobby first met Sirius Black. Dobby was still seeing Sirius Black three years after he was disowned by his family – Sirius Black and Dobby's mistress were arguing about money their Uncle Alphard left Sirius Black, and Dobby was delivering messages between them. He saw how Sirius Black was changing."

"Changing?" Harry asked. "You mean – did he believe the things his family did when he was younger?"

"No, Harry Potter, Dobby means something else," Dobby replied gravely. "Sirius Black is always having a temper, sir, but when he is eighteen he is acting strangely. Sometimes when Dobby took him a message, Sirius Black was calm, even if he read the message while Dobby was there and it was saying nasty things. Other times when Dobby took him a message, he was angry when Dobby arrived – angrier than Dobby had ever seen him before. Even when Sirius Black had fights with his parents – Dobby saw two, sir, before Sirius Black left home – he was never acting violently. But Dobby became afraid to give messages to him. Once he threw a teapot and it just missed Dobby's head, and another time – " Dobby leaned forward and whispered. "Another time, Harry Potter, Dobby had to disappear so Sirius Black would not strangle him!"

"He tried to _strangle_ you?"

"Yes, sir, yes!"

"So one day he was normal, and then all of a sudden for no reason he started – "

"Dobby does not think it was for no reason, sir. It was starting when Sirius Black started living with Remus Lupin."

Harry tried to remember if Black had ever told him that he had lived with Lupin after they finished school; he didn't think he had. "So you think Lupin – changed him?"

"That is what is strange, Harry Potter," Dobby said. "When Sirius Black was in a good mood, Remus Lupin was there with him. When he was angry, sometimes Remus Lupin was there and sometimes he was not. When he was there, sir, he would tell Sirius Black to calm down, to not shout at Dobby. Dobby never saw Remus Lupin shout or act violently. If someone had asked Dobby to guess which one would go to prison, Dobby would have said Sirius Black!"

"But Lupin's not here," Harry said. "He's not living with Black – he's hiding from the Ministry someplace."

Dobby shook his head. "That does not matter, Harry Potter. Sometimes Sirius Black's house-elf Kreacher would visit Dobby's old masters – Kreacher is never liking Sirius Black, and Dobby's mistress likes Kreacher because Kreacher is loyal to her and his old mistress, her aunt. Dobby heard Kreacher say how Sirius Black is still violent. The last time Dobby heard this was not even a year ago, sir. So Harry Potter must stay away from Sirius Black as much as he can! Sirius Black could hurt Harry Potter, and Harry Potter must not be hurt – he is too good, too noble, too brave – "

"Okay, okay," said Harry, feeling his face turn red. "Look, I'm not saying Black was in the right – but maybe he didn't like you because you came from the Malfoys. He likes me – I don't know why he'd want to hurt me."

"Sometimes Dobby saw scratch marks on Remus Lupin, sir," Dobby said, staring at Harry. "They did not look like they came from a wolf – they were looking as though a human had made them."

"And you think Black did it?"

"Yes, Harry Potter."

Harry took a deep breath. "Dobby, look," he said. "Black shouldn't have thrown a teapot at you and he _really_ shouldn't have tried to strangle you. That was a really bad thing to do. You're – you're a good person and you're not like the Malfoys, and it wasn't fair of him to think you were. But I don't think Black would ever actually hurt someone he liked. I mean, he let Hagrid – that's the gamekeeper here – he let Hagrid use his lawyer for this hearing about Hagrid's hippogriff."

"Dobby knows, sir," Dobby replied. "Brutus Swift wrote to Dobby and asked him to go to the hearing in case he was needed."

"Wait, you were at the hearing?" Harry exclaimed. "What's happening? They haven't decided a verdict yet, have they?"

"Dobby does not know, Harry Potter – Dobby went to the hearing, and Hagrid told him he could leave." Dobby sighed. "Sirius Black, he is not a good friend to Hagrid."

"What do you mean, he's not a good friend to Hagrid?" Harry could hear the indignation in his own voice. Had Black really tried to strangle Dobby? Dobby had kept Harry's letters from him, but Harry didn't think he'd lie about something this important.

"The Malfoys, sir, they have a good lawyer at the hearing with them, and Hagrid does not have a lawyer there because Sirius Black told him not to bring Brutus Swift with him."

"Black doesn't want to make things worse between him and the Malfoys – "

"If Dobby had a good lawyer," Dobby said, "and the Malfoys wanted to kill Harry Potter's owl, Dobby would let his lawyer argue for Harry Potter at the hearing even if the Malfoys would be angry at Dobby. Dobby would know that the life of Harry Potter's owl was more important."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but he realized he had nothing to say. Dobby was right. The worst that could happen to Black was that the Malfoys would make trouble for him, but the worst that could happen to Buckbeak was death. Why hadn't –

"Dobby," Harry said, "with the Ministry's investigation – do you know if the Malfoys killed Regulus Black? You were living with the Malfoys then, weren't you?"

"Yes, Dobby lived there," said Dobby. "Dobby knows many secrets of his masters' – _many_ secrets, Harry Potter – but they are clever wizards. They never let Dobby know everything."

"Do you know if Regulus ever had any arguments with them – if he ever wanted to quit being a Death Eater, or anything like that?"

"No, sir, Dobby did not see Regulus Black very often."

Harry could hear many footsteps outside the door; classes were letting out. "How are you doing these days, Dobby? Do you have anyone you work for?"

"Not yet, Harry Potter, not yet. Wizards do not want to pay house-elves, not even twenty knuts a week."

"You've got someplace to stay though, don't you?"

"Yes, sir, Dobby is staying with his aunt. Her family will not pay Dobby to work for them, but they let him sleep in their house and eat their food if he helps his aunt with her chores. She is old now and does not work fast."

"Who does she work for?"

"The Macmillan family, Harry Potter."

"Ernie Macmillan's family?"

"Yes, sir, Ernie Macmillan's grandparents."

"And they're okay? They're not mean to you or anything?"

"No, Harry Potter, the Macmillans are kind wizards."

"I'll write to you there," Harry said, rising from his seat. "I've got to go now – "

"Harry Potter must promise to stay away from Sirius Black!" Dobby insisted, leaning forward and grabbing Harry's hand.

"Dobby, I can't, he's my teacher!"

"Harry Potter must not see him except when he absolutely must!"

"All right," Harry said, "I'm supposed to have a lesson with him tonight but I'll tell him I can't go. But I can't promise anything else. Okay?"

Dobby pressed his lips together, his eyes darting back and forth. "Harry Potter must decide for himself," he said at last. "But Dobby has warned him, and Dobby has always wanted what is best for Harry Potter."


	43. Chapter 43

"So, what, Dobby thinks Black might go mental and kill you?"

"I guess," said Harry, just before being hit in the mouth by a jet of milk. "Ugh – how long have we got to keep doing this?"

"For the remainder of the period, Potter," said Professor Sprout, overhearing him. "No, Miss Patil, the _center_ of the flower – there you are, very good. Let's see your plant, Miss Brown – oh dear. Longbottom, could you – Longbottom? Come and help Miss Brown with her Lilac, please, it's just squirted milk up her nose."

The Lactating Lilacs were, by far, Harry's least favorite Herbology assignment. They were leafy bushes about the height of a tall desk, and thick with light purple flowers that gushed heavy streams of milk. The class's task was to bottle the milk and then stick corks in the flowers once the flow began to ebb; they had been at it for five minutes and already the insides of the greenhouse windows looked as though they had been doused with watered white paint.

"Well, he obviously thinks Lupin's worse," said Hermione, whose hair, Harry suspected, was starting to curdle. "Otherwise he'd want you to leave Hogwarts like he did last year."

"Of course Lupin's worse," Ron said, banging a cork down deep into a lilac blossom. "Black would have to do an awful lot to be worse than Lupin – he could betray one friend to You-Know-Who and kill twelve people with a single curse and he'd still be behind. I don't know, though, I don't think trying to strangle Dobby is that bad of a sign – I wanted to strangle the little nutter myself after that Whomping Willow snapped my wand. A whole year of rubbish marks – "

"Dobby didn't _make_ you take your dad's car, Ron," Hermione said. "You – "

"We didn't know if Mum and Dad could come back the other way! What were we supposed to do, not go to school?"

Hermione ignored him. "I don't think Dobby told us much more than what we already knew," she said, reaching for another cork. "We already figured whatever Black has is something that makes him dangerous at times. That's really strange, though, how Lupin was the one who could calm him down. Lupin must have been good at hiding what he was really like…" She tilted one of her flowers into a fresh glass bottle. "You know, the more that I think about it, I don't really blame Black for not wanting Swift to go to court with Hagrid."

"You're joking," said Harry, at the same time that Ron said, "You're mental."

Hermione looked defensive and more than a little flustered. "Well, obviously none of us _want_ Buckbeak to die, but think of where Black's coming from with this. He thinks the Malfoys killed his brother, and he's probably right. If he gets on their bad side – more on their bad side, I mean, enough where it would be worth it to them to kill him and risk getting caught – what's going to stop them from doing him in?"

"He's the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor we've ever had," Ron said. "He's really good – "

"Oh, don't give me that," Hermione snapped. "Being a really clever wizard doesn't mean some other clever wizard can't kill you. I bet Harry's parents were really good at magic, but You-Know-Who still killed them."

"I wasn't saying anything about Harry's parents!" Ron protested, just as a torrent of milk from Seamus's Lilac hit him squarely on the back. "They got killed by _You-Know-Who_, not the _Malfoys_ – "

"The Malfoys aren't stupid," Hermione said. "They've stayed out of Azkaban after all the stuff they've been accused of and they got Riddle's diary into Hogwarts last year. They're awful people and they think they're better than anyone else because they're rich and they're purebloods, but they're not stupid. If they really wanted to kill Black, he'd have to really stay alert to survive. And I wouldn't put it past them to kill someone for getting them to lose their court case, especially not a case about Draco getting his arm torn up."

"I wouldn't put it past them to kill someone for getting them to lose a court case about Draco getting a _nosebleed_," Ron said.

"Exactly. And Black can't really afford to die now, can he? I mean, no one can really afford to die – "

"I hope the Malfoys can," said Ron, but Harry gestured at him to be quiet.

"No one can really afford to die, but Black can't die now, especially – he's got to be with Harry as much as he can, he wants the Malfoys to go to Azkaban for murdering his brother, he wants Lupin caught. It's not like he doesn't care at all about Buckbeak, that's why he got Swift to give Hagrid advice. But if he's got to chose between Buckbeak dying and him dying, he's going to go with Buckbeak." She looked at Harry. "I know maybe you don't understand, you're the one who drank Neville's potion to save Trevor – "

"No, I get what you mean," Harry said. "Besides, that was really stupid of me to do – afterwards I had this weird thing for a while, every time I touched somebody's skin I'd have these, I don't know, visions or something – "

"Oh wow," said Ron. "Why didn't you tell Trelawney? You could have got extra credit! Maybe I'll get Neville to make me some more of that stuff, I think I probably failed my last homework – "

"What do you mean, _visions_?" Hermione asked Harry.

"Like – like all of a sudden I wasn't where I really was, I was someplace else for a few seconds." He tried to think of how to describe it. "I think one time in one of the visions I was in McGonagall's classroom, and Cho Chang – this was before I knew who she was, I'd just bumped into her in the corridor –she was there and she'd just – "

"Hey, look!" Dean shouted. "Up there, it's flying over us – "

A dark shape about twice the size of a man was flying over the greenhouse roof, the noise of a Muggle engine following it as it passed overhead. With the milk all over the walls and ceiling, Harry couldn't see what it was; Dean and Seamus ran to the front wall of the greenhouse and started wiping the milk off the glass, everyone else crowding around them and trying to see over their shoulders.

"Look if you must and get it over with," said Sprout; Harry wasn't looking at her, but her voice sounded as though she were rolling her eyes.

"I think it's going to land," Lavender said. From what Harry could see through the milky glass, the shape was descending to the ground about half a mile away, near the wall of the castle. It touched the ground, skidded for a little ways, and then split in half, one half coming in their direction and the other half staying put.

"Somebody's coming over here," said Neville. "He's running – "

Parvati squinted. "I think it's Professor Black."

"A teacher you see every day, entirely uninteresting," said Sprout. Harry wondered if she had any idea how wrong she was about the second part. "Now get back to work."

"But he's coming over here, Professor!" Seamus protested.

"I don't care what he's doing, Finnigan, now keep corking your Lactating Lilac before it floods this place."

Harry took one final look and returned to his plant. Black was indeed heading towards the greenhouse; about half a minute later, there was a knock on the door and everyone looked up from their plants again.

"You're disrupting my class, Sirius," said Sprout as she opened the door. "What exactly is that thing – "

"Motorbike," said Black; Dean whistled and Sprout frowned. "I'm sorry, Pomona, but I've got to borrow Harry for a moment."

"How do you keep getting out of class so often?" Lavender whispered to Harry.

Professor Sprout seemed to realize she was defeated in the battle of keeping the class's attention. "Fine," she said. "As a warning, he's covered in about three pints of milk – "

"That's fine," Black said quickly. "Harry, come on."

Harry set down the corks he was holding and went to the door, making squelching noises with his every step.

The February air was cold on Harry's wet skin. From the look on Black's face, he suspected what was coming. "They convicted Buckbeak," he said.

Black exhaled heavily. "Yes."

The two of them looked at each other in silence for a moment, Harry in his dripping robes and milk-spotted glasses, Black with his dark winter cloak and heavy-soled boots. The cloak was big for Black and the pewter clasp, with its metal tendrils, looked as though it were trying to grab him by the throat.

"There'll be an appeal," Black said abruptly. "It's not over yet – "

"I know you're my godfather," Harry said.

He had not planned to say it, and the minute the words left his mouth he could not quite believe that they had. Black, it seemed, had not expected this either; he gave a short gasp and then, after a moment, sat down in what was left of the snow.

"I'm not angry at you or anything," Harry said, feeling a desperate need to fill the silence. "I haven't figured out everything, but I know you're ill with something – I know you've tried to get me to come live with you, I know that was what my parents wanted you to do. I know you used to live with Lupin, too, Dobby told me that – "

"Dobby?" Black said. He looked slightly dazed. "The Malfoys' house-elf?"

"Yeah. He, er, he came to see me today, he likes me a lot. And I know you probably can't tell me what you're ill with – "

Black got to his feet. "Come on," he said, taking his wand from somewhere within the depths of his cloak. With one flick every trace of milk on Harry was gone. "We're going inside."

"The greenhouse?"

"The castle."

"What if Sprout – "

"You can tell her you were with your legal guardian," said Black, and started towards the castle door.


	44. Chapter 44

In the late afternoon winter dusk, Black's office looked dark and cheerless; even after Black had lit all the candles, Harry was still aware of the cold, creeping grayness outside, surrounding the school like a dementor while the candles inside tried to ward off the desolation like a feeble Patronus. Looking at Black's face, though, Harry was sure he wasn't thinking about any happy memories.

Black sat in one of the red armchairs and immediately closed his eyes, his left elbow pressing down into the armrest as his hand covered his lowered forehead. Hesitantly, Harry sat down in the other chair. As the silent moments passed, Harry wondered whether he should say something, but just as he was deciding against it, Black spoke.

"It was never supposed to be like this," he said. He had not moved and his eyes were still closed; from what Harry could see through the shadows and the curtain of Black's hair, it looked as though he were squeezing them even more tightly shut. "You have no idea how much it was _never_ supposed to be anything like this. It was all supposed to be very simple. I think we'd all agreed on it even before we spoke about it. If your parents died, you would come and live with me. No question, no issue, no complications. Why would there be? I was your godfather – I am your godfather. I knew you when you were a tiny baby who'd spent no more than five minutes outside your mother's womb. Of course you'd go with me. Never the smallest, slightest question. Ever, not once.

"None of us – " He took a very deep breath and paused. "None of us realized that I'd – done – I'd done something reckless, something very reckless and stupid. It was, ah, it was something I'd done a few years ago. It didn't have anything to do with – you or James, or Lily, none of you, there was no reason to think it would affect you at all. It was a long time before I knew it could cause any problems. When it did start – having complications, I didn't know they were related. I mean, I knew what I'd done a few years ago and I knew what was happening to me now, but I didn't realize there was any connection, do you understand what I mean?"

"Yes," Harry said.

Black's tightly shut eyes seem to slightly relax, but he kept them closed. "They were physical complications. They didn't happen very frequently and there were so many other things happening that I didn't have much time to think about them – they started not too long before your parents died. I wasn't near them when they died, I was in Germany, at the school. A few weeks after your parents died I looked at some various records I'd kept and read the official report of their deaths, and I realized that as they were dying I was sitting outside the dormitories trying to stay awake. We – the teachers there – we had different shifts on different days where we'd stay near the dormitories and keep watch over things. The next morning I didn't know anything had happened – I just knew Remus was supposed to have arrived at school at seven o'clock in the morning and he never came. I had to stay there until noon and then I apparated back to England. I thought maybe there'd been some kind of conflict or battle and something had happened to him. I didn't wonder if anything had happened to your parents – they were hidden from Voldemort, it's hard to explain, but – "

"I know Lupin was their Secret-Keeper," Harry said.

Black didn't ask how Harry had found out, or any other questions. "I apparated back to where we were living then, but there was no one there, no note or letter or anything like that. Everything was tidy. It didn't look like he'd had to rush out for some emergency. I wasn't exactly sure where your parents were supposed to be hiding – I had an idea, but I didn't know for sure – so I apparated to just outside Peter's flat. You know who Peter – "

"Yes."

"The entire street was empty, no people, no traffic. Somewhere a little ways off I could hear all this noise. At first I couldn't tell what any of it was, just noise, so much noise. I started running towards it and after a little while I realized there were sirens and people shouting. There were two dead bodies lying on the ground and part of the wall of a building was completely destroyed. The Muggle ambulance workers were wheeling more bodies in body bags into the ambulances – I asked somebody what had happened, and she said it was a gas leak. I thought maybe Peter'd come down there to see what was happening, but I couldn't find him. I was thinking I'd go to headquarters – there would have to be _someone_ at headquarters – and then I heard someone say my name and I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked and it was Dumbledore – I was thinking to myself, _why in hell is Dumbledore on a Muggle street wearing a suit_? The only thing I could think of was that maybe somehow he had known where I was and had come to tell me what had happened to Remus. He took me aside a little ways and just as I was about to ask him he told me, 'Sirius, Remus killed Peter.'

"The first thing I thought – it was awful, but the first thing I thought was, _what, did he get hungry_? We used to joke that one day Remus was going to get extremely hungry and Peter'd be the first one he'd go for – Peter was somewhat overweight. Then I thought, _whose incredibly stupid idea of a joke was this_? I asked him, 'What?' and he said again, 'Remus killed Peter.'

"I still didn't believe it – I mean, why _would_ he? – but I didn't think to argue and I said, 'Why?' He said, 'Peter tracked down Remus and Remus killed him.' By that point it just sounded really ridiculous – sort of like_, all right, if this is somebody's bad joke, I still don't get it_ – and I said, 'Tracked down Remus _why_?' and Dumbledore said, 'For betraying Lily and James to Voldemort.' I said, 'Betraying them how?' and then suddenly this look came over his face and he said, 'Sirius – I'm sorry, I thought you'd got the owl we sent you – Lily and James are _dead_.'

"I'm not even sure what I did – I think maybe I shouted and hit something, but I don't know – and then suddenly Dumbledore'd apparated us to headquarters and I was still shouting whatever it was I was shouting. There was this frilly sort of pink glass lamp on one of the tables and I just smashed it against the wall – then I took whatever part I was still holding on to and smashed that again. I still didn't know why he was saying that Remus had betrayed James and Lily and killed Peter, but I believed James and Lily were dead. I was going to smash something else but Dumbledore grabbed me and somehow managed to hold me back. He started to say something about Remus, and I just yelled at him, 'Do you know what you're fu-' basically, 'Do you know what you're saying?' It was just unreal. It wasn't even unreal like a nightmare, because nightmares are about things that you've thought of at one point or another and I'd never thought of this. So he stopped trying to say anything about Remus and he told me you were being taken to your aunt and uncle. I knew James and Lily were dead, but there was some part of my mind that was still thinking, _Lily's going to have a fit when she hears about this_. I started shouting something about, why were you going there? and he said I just had to go to the Ministry and fill out some paperwork and then I could take you home. So I apparated to just outside there and I went in and screamed in a few different people's faces until they'd told me where I was supposed to go. The legal custody was all in place – it was just the physical custody. I was sitting on this purple sofa in some waiting room just furiously scrawling all the answers on the form. I remember a lot of the questions were making me angry, because I just wanted to get you and this form was asking about, main residence, other residences if applicable, have you had dragon pox, all these other things I didn't know why in the hell they'd care about. Then there was some line that said, _are there other people living in your household_? and I lost it. I think I was frightening the girl behind the desk – she was very young, looked barely out of school – but then after I'd been sobbing for a minute or so she came up to me and she said, 'Sir? We can take your blood sample now if you're ready.' And then all of a sudden I realized."

At last, Black tilted his head back and opened his eyes. He still wasn't looking at Harry. "The reckless, stupid thing that I'd done – it would be evident in my blood. It was unprecedented, what I'd done – as far as I know, I'm the only person to ever do it." He let out a single note of a hoarse, barking laugh. "No one else would have the motivation and no one else would have the opportunity. No one else would be arrogant and mad enough.

"So I hired an attorney named Brutus Swift. He was relatively young and unestablished back then. I put him to work looking for any legal loophole I could use and then I got a job working for an apothecary and took off for western Asia. When I wasn't collecting ingredients I was trying anything I could to get rid of my condition, but then the complications would return and I'd know it was still somewhere inside me. If a healer ever did look at a sample of my blood, they'd be shocked I've survived as many near-poisonings as I have. After a few years Brutus told me he couldn't continue with my case – I'd never told him what my condition was and he said he'd gone as far as he could go without knowing. I couldn't tell him. I'd never told anyone except your mum and dad and my other friends – that means Remus is the only other person alive who knows. I know he's never told any of the Death Eaters, because if he had, it would have got back to the Malfoys and I'd be locked up."

"Locked up – did – what if Lupin _does_ tell someone?"

"He won't," said Black, opening his eyes and raising his head at last. The light from the candles had cast shadows on his face. "He has every reason to want me far away from you and he hasn't done it – he had plenty of time to contact the Malfoys before their legal troubles started. Perhaps he doesn't remember anymore – Azkaban could have taken it from him. I have no idea what he thinks these days. I'm not even sure why he wants to kill you."

"Ron's dad said," Harry began – he was thinking hard, trying to remember what he had heard Mr. Weasley say – "Back during the summer – he said it was because Lupin had put all his hopes with Voldemort and I defeated him."

Black shook his head. "It's possible, but I've never been convinced of that. Do you remember what I told you before? About what Lupin was like before he went to Azkaban?"

"You said…you said he wasn't the type who'd want to sit at Voldemort's right hand, he just wanted to blend in."

"I lived with him for almost a decade, during school and after," Black said. "There's no reason why he would have hated Muggles or Muggle-borns. His mother was a Muggle – the woman who spent his childhood washing his wounds after each full moon. He knew what it was like to live with the knowledge that people thought he was inferior – or would, that is, if they knew what he was. The more I think about it, the more I don't believe he was ever a genuine Death Eater."

"But I thought people said that Lupin was the only one – that he was so powerful that he was the only one Voldemort let join him who wasn't a pureblood wizard."

"People say all sorts of things," Black replied. "Was he powerful? Yes, he was powerful. But he wasn't powerful beyond belief, and as for the only one who wasn't a pureblood wizard, I know for a fact that isn't true." Black paused. "I can't take the slightest risk of anyone finding out the nature of my condition. I can't risk someone tricking or forcing it out of you – I can't risk being separated from you again. It took me twelve years to create a potion that would keep you safe from me, twelve years to be able to see you. I won't get into the complications of my condition, but some of them are very dangerous. I finished the potion a couple of months before Lupin escaped – I'd been planning to wait a year and make sure the potion would keep working, but when I heard what'd happened, I knew you needed me. You needed someone who could teach you how to defend yourself against the dark arts and you needed someone watching over you.

"I didn't know how to tell you. How do you tell a boy that you're his guardian but you couldn't take care of him? You see how vague I'm being now – I know you're thinking of everything I haven't told you, all the questions you'd hoped I would answer. You see how much I have to leave out. Besides, I had no idea how you'd take the news – I didn't know what sort of person you'd grown up to be, whether you would forgive everything or despise me for abandoning you. I had no idea how you would react if I told you, especially when there were things I couldn't explain. There was always the chance that you'd want nothing to do with me, that you'd ignore all my warnings and end up in a worse situation than you are now. I had to make sure you would always listen to what I said, and if in order to do that I had to be only your teacher and not your godfather, that was what I would do. I couldn't risk losing the progress I'd made. And I imagine that when you found out I was your godfather, you _were_ angry at me, am I right?"

Harry nodded.

"How did you find out? Did Snape tell you?"

"No," Harry said, "but he knows that I know. I found out over the Christmas holidays – I heard some of the teachers talking about it – "

"Wait," Black said, holding up his hand. "How did you hear some of the teachers talking about it? Not even Snape would bring it up if he knew there was the chance that you could hear them."

Harry swallowed. "I – I snuck out to Hogsmeade."

Black slammed his hand down on the armrest of his chair. "I'm sorry," Harry began, before Black could say anything, "I – "

"You're not nearly as sorry as I would be if you'd ended up dead on the street with your throat ripped out, let me tell you that." Black sprang from his chair and began to angrily pace back and forth across the room. "I suppose you thought Lupin wouldn't kill you in the middle of a street full of people. Did I not tell you on the _very first day_ we saw each other again – did I not tell you that Remus Lupin is a very unpredictable man?"

"Yes," Harry said quietly.

"Do you have any idea how many people would be devastated if you were killed? Do you think Ron and Hermione would ever get over that? Do you think _Hagrid_ would ever get over that? Tell me how you got out of the school."

"There's a fireplace," Harry said. Pacing up and down the room, his cape flying out behind him, Black looked as batlike as Snape ever had. "In Room 314 – it's on the floo network – "

"Not by tomorrow, it won't be," Black said. "You will not leave the school grounds again until I take you home at the end of the year, do you understand me?"

"Yes," Harry said; a split second after he had spoken, he realized what Black had said. "Wait – when you – "

Black stopped pacing and rested both of his hands on the back of his armchair. "That is, assuming your aunt and uncle can spare you," he said. "I can't imagine they'd want you around the house when you could be away visiting for the entire summer, can you?"


	45. Chapter 45

For a moment, Harry thought his heart had stopped beating.

"Of course I want you to stay with me for the whole summer," Black said quietly, his solemn gray eyes searching Harry's face. "I'd never leave you with those people unless I absolutely had to. You're my _godson_, Harry." His hands were gripping the back of the chair so hard that the tips of his fingers were turning white. "You're James's son. You belong with me – you've belonged with me ever since your parents died, and I haven't let a day go by without remembering that. You don't ever have to go back to the Dursleys again." He swallowed and released the chair. "I live in London – it's a horrible rundown mansion, but you can pick any bedroom you like. We can get it fixed up however you want – "

"Pick a bedroom?" Harry echoed. Not a cupboard under the stairs, or Dudley's second bedroom, or a dormitory room shared with four other boys – for the first time that he could remember, he was going to have his own bedroom.

"There are six empty ones," Black said. As he walked around to the front of the chair and sat down again, Harry thought he could see his legs trembling slightly. "No one's cleaned them in years, but we'll fix that. I'm not sure what the summer's going to be like – I'm not sure if I'll be able to work here again next year, for one thing – but I'll probably be home most of the time. If they've caught Lupin by summer, we could go abroad if you want. I'm not sure where, but – "

"I'm not going abroad," Harry said, gasping faintly as he spoke; he'd just realized that he'd hardly taken a breath of air for the last several seconds. "Why would I want to go abroad when I'm going to be staying with you?"

Black looked slightly embarrassed. "I want you to understand, the house is on the verge of being an absolute wreck," he said. "I haven't lived there very often since I inherited it – the dust is almost unbearable in some rooms, and there's mildew in the kitchen – "

"Who _cares_?!" Harry nearly shouted. It was starting to feel real now, wonderfully real; he was going to go live with his godfather. "So what if there's dust – look, Sirius, I wouldn't mind if you lived in a soggy cardboard _box_ – "

"If that's what I have to do to keep you safe from Lupin, we _will_ live in a soggy cardboard box," Black said. "If he hasn't been caught by the end of the school year, I'm keeping you in the house until he is. Don't expect – " His voice broke off and he looked at Harry, bemused. "Did you just call me Sirius?"

"I guess," Harry said. "Sorry, it just slipped out – "

"No, no, no, don't apologize," Black said at once. "Of course you can call me Sirius, it would be ridiculous for you to keep calling me Professor Black." Something occurred to Harry; he tried not to smile, but it was no good. "What?"

"Malfoy," Harry said, allowing himself to grin. "Back on the train to school at the beginning of the year – he said it wouldn't be long before you asked him to call you Sirius."

"Apparently his mother failed to fill him in on nearly two decades of animosity between us," Black said, leaning back in his seat. "You said Snape knows that you know that I'm your godfather – what happened?"

Harry took a deep breath, and launched into the whole story of his breaking into Black's office and the confrontation with Snape. The only things he left out were that Ron and Hermione had been with him, and that they'd had the Marauder's Map. He was willing now to own up to all the rules he'd broken, but he wasn't about to get anyone else in trouble, especially when they'd just been trying to help him. "Then he said something like, 'Your father learned there are consequences in life when he trusted his life to a werewolf, and now he's dead and cold – '"

"I'll kill him," Black said. His voice was dangerously soft. "I swear to God, one of these days that pathetic, greasy-haired bastard is going to say the wrong thing on the wrong day in front of me and then I will not be held responsible for my actions." At last, he undid his cloak and slung over the side of the chair – a little too hard, Harry thought. "James was always worth a hundred of Snape. Breaking into offices and insulting a thirteen-year-old boy's dead father – that shows you what sort of level _he_ plays on. It's not enough for him that James was murdered when he was twenty-one, is it? He can't even decide James got what he deserved and move on with his life, he's got to try to keep punishing a dead man through his son, and you know what the funny thing is? If it had been Snape who died when he was twenty-one, James wouldn't have thought of him again unless someone else brought him up. James had better things to do than sit around simmering in old hatreds – both your parents did." He stopped and looked at Harry. "And they'd be very proud of you, you know."

Harry shrugged and looked away; he could feel his face growing hot. "I don't do anything that great," he muttered, "I just – stuff just happens. I mean, I didn't _try_ to hear the basilisk in the walls last year, I just did. I didn't mean to get into everything with the Stone either – I wasn't trying to be a hero or anything – "

"They would be proud regardless," Black replied. He took a deep breath and sighed. "And now we've got to try to get Buckbeak acquitted. I was hoping Hagrid could pull it off himself, but we're past that point now – the whole thing is going to get very nasty before it's over. I was at Brutus's office before I came back here, and he wants to call witnesses at the appeal – "

"I'll do it," Harry said at once.

"No," Black replied, "it can't be you – it can't be Ron or Hermione either, it's got to be someone without a discernable history with the Malfoys. That narrows it down to Seamus, Dean, Neville – "

"Not Neville," Harry said. "Malfoy's been a foul little git to him since the first week of first year."

"Then we're down to four," Black said. "Seamus, Dean, Parvati, and Lavender."

Harry sat back and thought for a moment. "I think Parvati might do it," he said. "Especially if she knows you're on Hagrid's side – she, er, sort of likes you – "

"I'd noticed," said Black. He was trying not to smile and failing at it.

"She's been reading the _Daily Prophet_ articles on the Malfoys to the entire common room," Harry continued, "but I don't think they know that. Lavender'll probably start crying if you use her. Seamus and Dean would probably do it – I mean, no one in Gryffindor likes Malfoy – "

"That's one of the problems we're going to have to work around," Black replied. "It's too bad Gryffindor and Slytherin were the only houses there. The best thing would be to have a Slytherin testify against the Malfoys, but that's clearly never going to happen." He paused. "I'm not sure how many witnesses Brutus wants to have – "

"Hang on," Harry said. An idea was starting to form in his mind – an impossible idea, but an idea nonetheless. "I don't know what it's all about, but Pansy Parkinson had some kind of row with Malfoy, I think. She started this petition to get rid of assigned seats in Potions class – I'm stuck at a table with Malfoy, so he wouldn't want to move – and we even asked her if he knew about it and she did it anyway. I mean, she could just really, really hate having to sit next to Ron, but it was weird. She's always – "

" – fawning over Draco," Black finished. He looked intrigued. "I don't know, it might be worth looking into, even if it turns out to be a dead end. Anything we can find out about Draco might be good, actually – Brutus is planning to subpoena his school disciplinary records and enter them into evidence."

"Evidence of what," Harry asked, "general git-ness?"

"Basically, yes." Black smiled slightly. "We'll talk more about this later. On a different topic, if they catch Lupin, should I assume that you'd like a box at the Quidditch World Cup if I can get one?"

"You can _get_ those?" Harry asked. "They must cost a lot – you already bought seven Firebolts for Gryffindor – "

"Don't worry about that," Black replied. "A couple of years ago I had to get a second Gringotts vault because the first one was full. Who would you like to take, Ron and Hermione?"

"Yeah," Harry said, imagining the look on Ron's face.

"Anyone else?"

Harry bit the inside of his lower lip. In truth, he wanted to take the entire Weasley family, but he couldn't very well ask Black to pay for that many people.

"A box is a box," Black said, as though he was reading his mind. "You pay the same amount no matter how many people are in it."

"D'you think we could take the rest of Ron's family? He's got five brothers and Ginny, plus his parents – I've never met the eldest two of his brothers, maybe they're already going with someone else – "

"Yes, I think we could manage that."

"Ron's going pass out on the floor when I tell him," Harry said. "Wait – I've just thought – am I allowed to tell people that you're my godfather?"

"Do Ron and Hermione already know?" Harry nodded. "I wouldn't advertise it, but I don't think you need to keep it a secret. Speaking of secrets, I want to make it absolutely clear that you're _finished_ with sneaking out of school. I understand the urge to get out, and once Lupin's caught you can to go Hogsmeade when the rest of the school – "

"Hang on," Harry said. "_You_ signed my permission form!"

"Of course I did," said Black, swinging his right leg up and resting its ankle on his left knee. "'Parent or guardian,' remember? But you're done with sneaking out of school, is that understood?"

"Yes," said Harry. Hermione was going to have to find another way to get that blood magic book from the basement of the shop. "What are we going to do if they still haven't caught Lupin by the World Cup? What are we going to do if they _never_ catch him?"

Black took a deep breath. "I don't know. We'll deal with that if and when we come to it." He glanced at the clock on the wall, just above the photograph of Nymphadora. She was standing on her hands and wiggling her toes. "Now we've got to deal with getting through dinner with Draco's gloating. I think the best thing we can do is walk in smiling about something; with any luck it'll unnerve him and he'll think we've got some important secret."

"Great," Harry said, grinning. "Brilliant."

Dinner was just about to start; the corridors were mostly empty of students, except for a dreamy-looking girl with long blonde hair and a group of Ravenclaw second-years running by. "I'm not bad with dust, you know," Harry told Black as they headed down the stairs. "Of course, the Dursleys never had that much…I can cook, too."

"That's good to hear," Black said. "Kreacher's got to the point where he tries to fry things in the sink. It's too bad, he used to make wonderful meat dishes."

"When he wasn't sneaking chocolate in them, you mean," Harry said.

"The worst was the time he put a whole chocolate egg in – that reminds me, do you want to go with me to Andromeda and Ted's for Easter dinner? You could meet Nymphadora."

"Is that okay with them?"

"Of course it's okay with them." They had reached the doors to the Great Hall, and Harry could hear the clattering of plates and the sounds of people's voices inside. "Ready?" asked Black.

"I think so," Harry said.

"Thought of something to smile about?"

"I don't have to," Harry said. "If it weren't for Buckbeak, I think I could use today to produce a full Patronus." He closed his eyes for a split second, grasped the handle, and opened the door.


	46. Chapter 46

If there was anyone who could have used a full Patronus, however, it was Hagrid. Harry went to visit him the next day along with Ron and Hermione, who had decided not to go to Hogsmeade with the rest of their year. Buckbeak was standing in the melting snow outside Hagrid's hut, one leg chained to an iron spike in the ground; Harry bowed to him, but Buckbeak didn't seem to notice. He was too busy using his beak to gently nudge Hagrid, who was sitting on the snow beside him sobbing loudly.

"Hagrid, it's all right!" Hermione said, rushing over to him. "Professor Black and Brutus Swift are going to get Buckbeak acquitted – "

"Can' ask them ter do that," Hagrid said, his voice unsteady. Enormous tears were running down his face and falling into his beard. "Not wi' everything tha's happenin' with Sirius and the Malfoys – "

"You don't have to ask them," Harry said, "they're going to do it – they'd much rather have it out with the Malfoys than let Buckbeak be executed. Hagrid, guess what? I'm going to go live with Sirius this summer."

Hagrid's sobbing stopped abruptly. "Yer goin' teh – "

"Live with Sirius, yeah," Harry said, grinning. "My godfather."

"How'd yeh find out he was yer –" Hagrid stopped and shook his head. "No, no, don't tell me. Yeh were sneakin' around and gettin' into things yeh were s'pposed to stay out of, if I know yeh."

"Yeah, pretty much," Harry said. "Come on, let's go inside."

"Yeh'll like livin' with Sirius," Hagrid said to Harry once they were inside the hut. He was standing with his back to the fireplace, trying to dry where the snow had got his trousers wet. "Knows everythin' there is teh know 'bout yer parents – met yer dad on their first day o' Hogwarts an' was best man when yer parents got married. Used ter look after yeh a fair bit when yeh were a baby, too – well, looked after yeh an' Neville Longbottom – "

"What?" Harry said. "He – I knew Neville when I was a baby?"

"Oh, yeah," Hagrid replied, turning to one side to dry more of his trousers. "Yer parents would take the two o' yeh teh strategy meetings – for the war, yeh know – an' yeh'd crawl around on yer blankets on the floor wi' all yer little toy animals. He was born just before yeh – we were all bettin' on whether yer mums were havin' girls or boys, I lost ten Galleons bettin' yeh would both be girls – "

_When they took him to the big house and he lay on his blanket with his animals and with the other boy and his animals, the round boy_ – suddenly, another part of Harry's dream in the hospital wing made sense. "What did Neville's – " he started to ask, but Hagrid cut him off.

"At least Buckbeak's in good spirits," he said, pulling out a chair from the table and sitting down. "Poor beast don't know what they said about 'im. Gotta try an' enjoy it while it lasts – I'm not s'pposed to let 'im off that chain out there, and who knows what he'll be like after months o' not flyin'."

"You're not supposed to let him off the chain at all?" Ron asked. "Blimey – when's the appeal, anyway?"

"Not scheduled yet." There was a plate of cake in the middle of the table; Hagrid took the knife next to it and began to hack a piece loose. "Prob'ly June at the earliest. Can't imagine it'll be later than next October – "

"Next October? Next October we'll be _fourth-years_ – they'll probably catch Lupin before Buckbeak gets back in court!"

"Yeah, well, that's the Ministry," said Hagrid. "Lots o' convictions, not much chance o' gettin' off."

Harry certainly hoped that was true when it came to the Malfoys. As Valentine's Day came around, they were still banished from their manor – a situation that delighted Ron, seeing as Harry was going to move into a manor himself in another few months.

Even before Ginny Weasley had sent a dwarf to sing a love poem at him, Harry had never liked Valentine's Day. Back on Privet Drive, Valentine's Day was the day that Uncle Vernon wore his red tie to work, while Aunt Petunia spent hours watching soppy films and Dudley ate his way through the enormous heart-shaped box of chocolate she gave him every year. There was one silver lining, though: if Dudley actually bothered to look at the back of the box and didn't just stuff all the chocolates in his mouth, he would leave the coconut ones for Harry. Dudley loved doughnuts and ice cream and anything fried, but he'd never developed a taste for coconut.

This Valentine's Day, however, was the strangest one he could remember. Brutus Swift was trying to determine his possible witnesses and had sent word through Black that he wanted to know as soon as possible whether there was any point in considering Pansy Parkinson. "By the end of the day, we've got to figure out whether Malfoy and Pansy are getting along," Hermione informed Harry and Ron at breakfast. "So keep an eye on them."

Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table. Malfoy was saying something to Crabbe, while Pansy, several seats away, was looking over Daphne Greengrass's shoulder to read a lacy pink card.

"How are we supposed to know what _that_ means?" demanded Ron, who was looking in the same direction Harry was. "So they're not sitting near each other. Does that mean she hates his guts, or does that mean one of them got to breakfast late?"

"That means something's not right between them, Ron," said Hermione, as though this were all very obvious. "The one who got their first didn't save a seat for the other, and she hasn't got any card of her own to look at."

Harry and Ron exchanged dubious glances. "Hermione," Harry said, "can you really imagine Malfoy having anything to do with pink lace?"

"Exactly," said Ron. "Besides, what's-her-name aside, how do we know Slytherins even go in for all that stuff? They probably give each other dead snakes tied in love knots or something."

"Well, she should at least be sitting with him," Hermione said. "I can't imagine that she'd just ignore him on Valentine's Day if they were getting along."

"That who would ignore who?" asked Ginny, overhearing them from across the table. "Are you talking about Percy and Penelope?"

"No," said Ron, at the same time Hermione said, "No, what about them?"

"I think they've broken up," Ginny replied. "I was walking just behind him on my way in here, and the two of them walked right past each other and didn't say anything."

Harry's eyes searched up and down the table for Percy, but he couldn't see him anywhere. Suddenly, he wondered if Cho Chang had got a Valentine's card from Cedric Diggory.

In Potions class they were chopping kneazle livers for Cough-Suppressant Solutions, the first medicinal potion Snape had ever assigned them. "How's the hippogriff, Potter?" Malfoy drawled. "Keeping his feathers clean? Father's planning to have his head mounted and put on the wall after the execution."

"Your father's planning to have his own head mounted and put on a wall?" Harry asked. "Are they going to leave his eyes or put in glass ones?"

"The _hippogriff's_ head, Potter," Malfoy snapped. "That idiot Hagrid isn't thinking his bird's actually going to get off, is he? As if the Ministry would ever believe a criminal oaf like him over – "

"Over who, the criminal oafs in _your_ family? They let Hagrid out of Azkaban, the Ministry realized he didn't do anything. When is your aunt Bellatrix getting out?"

"Shut up about my aunt, Potter," Malfoy hissed.

"Where's your father planning to put Buckbeak's head, your parlor? Oh, I forgot – he can't put it anywhere in your house, your family got booted out by the Aurors. Where are your parents living now, their lawyer's cellar?"

"Where do you live when you go back to those Muggles every summer? Isn't it a cupboard under the stairs?"

"Not for the last few years," Harry replied. "Want to know where I'm living this summer, Malfoy? Your mum's family's ancestral home."

Malfoy's jaw dropped for a split second before he recovered. "You're lying," he said, taking another liver. "As if I'm stupid enough to believe that."

"Believe what you want," Harry said. "Oh, by the way – next time you talk to your parents, tell them Kreacher won't be coming to visit anymore. Sirius found out."

This time when Malfoy's jaw dropped, he didn't shut his mouth."He's my godfather," Harry said. "Didn't your mum ever tell you that?"

Malfoy didn't answer; instead, he reached for his dandelion roots and started to shred them. "You're going to be living with Black?" he asked after a few seconds had passed. There was an unmistakable smirk on his face.

"Yeah," Harry replied. "D'you need me to write it down for you?"

"Just the two of you? All alone in that house?"

Harry couldn't see what Malfoy was trying to get at. "And Kreacher. Does that make sense, Malfoy? Do you want me to repeat it again?"

"I hope you're not expecting to get a godmother someday," Malfoy drawled. "Because I really doubt you will."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," Harry said, reaching for his own dandelion roots. "You know how much I care about what you think."

Hermione was exasperated when she found out that Harry hadn't managed to find anything out about Malfoy and Pansy. "You sat next to him for a whole class and you didn't even _try_?"

"How was I supposed to try?" Harry retorted. "It's not like Malfoy's going to start pouring his heart out to me about his undying love for Pansy Parkinson."

"Yeah," said Ron. "_You_ try it, Hermione, you're the one who knows about this stuff."

"Fine," Hermione replied crisply. "I will."

"Harry! Harry!"

Harry turned around; Colin Creevey was standing behind him in the corridor, looking uncharacteristically nervous. "Harry, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure," Harry said. Ron glanced at him, shrugged, and kept walking with Hermione. "What is it?"

Colin took a deep breath and pressed his lips together. "You know all the Weasleys, don't you? Because Ron's your friend?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said. "Except his two eldest brothers, I haven't met them yet – " Colin's eyes darted back and forth, as though he was trying to see who might be watching them. "Why?"

"Do you – " Colin stopped for a second and took another breath. "Do you think that if I gave Ginny a Valentine's card she'd like it?"

Harry blinked. "You mean, like – because you want her to be your girlfriend?"

"No," Colin said miserably. "My dad says I can't have a girlfriend until I'm a third-year. Just – so she knows I like her. You don't think she'd laugh, do you? Even if she doesn't like me that way?"

"Well – I don't think so," Harry said. "But, look, Colin, just so you know, she really fancied me a lot last year – I don't fancy _her_, but – "

"I know," Colin said. He poked at a spot on the floor with the toe of his shoe. "But you don't think she'd laugh, right? Or say something mean about me?"

"I don't think so," Harry said. "I guess you won't know until you try, though…"

"Thanks," said Colin, and dashed off down the corridor. Harry watched him as he ran, trying to take in the concept of tiny little Colin Creevey wanting a girlfriend.

At lunch there were heart-shaped pink cakes for dessert. "Pansy's still not sitting with Malfoy," Hermione said. "I think it's off for good with them. I don't think she'll agree to testify, though – look at all those girls around her." Pansy was surrounded by her usual gang. "They're not going to like her testifying against someone from their house and she's not going to want to be left with no friends."

In Defense Against the Dark Arts they were studying how to identify magical poisons. "I'm going to give each one of you a clear glass bottle," Black said, handing one to Dean. "Do not open them under any circumstances. Five of you are getting bottles with poison and three of you are getting bottles with harmless liquids. By the end of class I want everyone to have looked at everyone else's bottle and written down which bottles they think have poison in them."

Harry's bottle was half full with a brown liquid that moved slowly when he tilted the bottle. "Yours has got to be syrup," Ron said, looking at it. "So that's one of the non-poison ones – "

"Ron, it could be augurey blood mixed with ground mandrake leaves!" Hermione exclaimed. "Look, it says right here, 'when combined, the two usually benign substances undergo a chemical reaction that results in a dark poisonous liquid – '"

"Here, let me see yours," Lavender said, reaching for Hermione's bottle. The substance inside was transparent and light orange. "I think this one is viscesia powder in water – oh, I've been meaning to ask you, have you still got that letter from Astrophil?"

Hermione regarded her warily. "Why?"

"Parvati and I want to see if we can figure out who wrote it," Lavender replied. In honor of Valentine's Day, she had braided red ribbons in her hair. "How did your cat get it, anyway?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, "he just had it all of a sudden after we got off the train at the start of the year."

"Well, can we see it?"

Hermione didn't reply. "Okay," she said after a few seconds. "But it's not mine and I don't want everyone saying it is, all right?"

"Fine with me," said Lavender. "Harry, can I smell your bottle?" Harry handed it to her. "Maple syrup – definitely maple syrup."

Lavender was right; Harry, Parvati and Seamus were the three members of the class who had normal liquids, while everyone else had poison. "We think Pansy and Malfoy broke up," Harry said quietly to Black as the class was leaving. "But Hermione doesn't think she'll testify."

"All right," Black replied. "I'll pass it on. I was thinking, do you have a good shirt for Easter?"

"I'm not sure," Harry said. "What counts as a good shirt?"

"Something with a collar and buttons," Ron said. "He hasn't got one."

"We'll figure that out later," Black said. "See you at dinner, all right?"

"Not for long," Harry said. "Wood's making us do extra Quidditch practice."

Wood had managed to make himself unpopular with his teammates before, but Harry thought he might have really done it for good this time. They had only been allowed ten minutes to eat dinner before going out to the Quidditch pitch; the snow might have been melting, but the wind was still cold, and Alicia Spinnet was complaining because Wood had shouted for her to hurry up and get to practice just as Kenneth Towler was trying to tell her something.

Fred and Angelina weren't speaking to each other, for some reason, and that meant that George wasn't speaking to Angelina, either. Katie wanted to be excused from practice because her nose kept dripping. "No one is excused from practice!" Wood yelled over the sound of the wind. There was a manic gleam in his eye. "We've got no idea what the weather is going to be like when we play Slytherin! Here, Katie, stuff this up your nose and breathe through your mouth."

"What would you do if her arm froze off?" George asked. "Stick a bandage by her shoulder and make her get back on her broom?"

Wood ignored him. "Reflex drills! Fred and George, I want you to hit bludgers at all of us. Don't go in any kind of order, we shouldn't be expecting them. Everyone else, dodge the bludgers!"

"Is it just me," George said to Harry as he started to free the bludgers from their box, "or does he seem _happier_ than usual?"

It was an hour before Wood declared they were allowed to go inside; no one had got hit by a bludger, but Angelina was claiming that Fred had hit them more towards her than towards anyone else. To Harry's surprise, Ron and Hermione were waiting for him right inside the castle door. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Well, first," Ron began, "Colin Creevey is holding hands with my sister. Second – "

"Second," Hermione interjected, "I think we're going to be able to get Pansy Parkinson to testify. All the Slytherin girls got Valentine cards from Malfoy, and when they opened them up the cards said how ugly they were – Millicent Bulstrode threw a sweet at his head, so he tried to hex her and then Daphne Greengrass hit him in the nose – "

Harry stared. "_What_? Wait a minute – why would Malfoy want to – " Hermione was carefully avoiding his eyes. "Hermione! What did you _do_?"

"It's in Buckbeak's best interests," Hermione said at once. "The Malfoys are willing to lie and cheat to win this and we've got to beat them at their own game."


	47. Chapter 47

Harry had never thought there would be a day when he wouldn't relish Malfoy getting in trouble, but it seemed that day had arrived. He didn't feel particularly sorry that Malfoy was being punished for something he hadn't done – after all, Malfoy usually avoided being punished for things he _had_ done – but he couldn't shake the feeling that Hermione's plan was going to backfire horribly at any moment. And when it did, Harry thought, Black was going to be furious.

"What about the handwriting?" he asked Hermione as Fred and George shot another round of purple sparks towards the ceiling. It was about an hour after Quidditch practice had ended, and the entire Gryffindor common room was in an especially good mood. There was a rumor going around that Malfoy was going to be suspended from the Slytherin Quidditch team. "What if they realize it's not Malfoy's handwriting?"

"They're not going to," Hermione insisted, adding a note in the margin of her Arithmancy book. "Have you ever taken a really good look at Malfoy's handwriting? It's easy to forge, he prints everything."

"Okay, forget the handwriting – why would Malfoy want to make all the Slytherin girls in our year hate him? Does that make _any_ sense to you?"

Hermione exhaled sharply. "For the last time, it doesn't matter if it makes sense! They believe it – you should have seen them, they looked like they were about ready to kill him."

"Well, they're not going to believe it once they've calmed down and thought about it! And come on, Hermione, do you really think you're going to beat the Malfoys at lying and cheating? All they _do_ is lie and cheat! You might as well try to beat Wood at being mental about Quidditch!"

"He's right, Hermione," said Ron, watching the purple sparks as they faded. "Look, I'm not saying you're not brilliant or anything, but you said it yourself, the Malfoys aren't stupid. All Malfoy's got to do is tell Snape he didn't write those cards and Snape'll start heating up his biggest cauldron so he can boil us alive."

"I don't care," said Hermione, scribbling another note. "He can't do anything unless he can prove it, and he's never going to prove it. Besides, what are you two worried about? You didn't make the cards."

Harry and Ron exchanged incredulous looks. "Because you're our friend, Hermione!" Harry exclaimed. "And if Snape does manage to prove it, it's not just him you'll have after you – Black's going to just about – "

"I don't care," Hermione repeated. "It's not like he's particularly fond of me in the first place."

For a moment, Harry stared in silence. "What are you _talking_ about?" Hermione didn't answer. "You don't still think that because he doesn't say much about how good your stuff in class is – "

"He talked to you and Ron after class today but he didn't say anything to me," said Hermione. She had yet to look up from her book.

"That's because he didn't need to say anything to you! I told him about Pansy – "

"He didn't really talk to me either," said Ron, "I just answered when he asked if Harry had a good shirt for Easter. What's the matter with you? Have you gone completely mad?"

"Ask Black," Hermione said. "He's the one who said I was nearly hysterical."

Harry blinked, bewildered. "He did? When?"

"When we were in his office, after Lupin had been sighted."

"You're taking this all way too personally," Harry said, shaking his head. "He's just under a lot of stress – he gets sharp with people sometimes, you should have heard him when he was telling me off about sneaking out to Hogsmeade. Why _wouldn't_ he like you?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, and suddenly there was a strange note of emotion in her voice. "Especially seeing as I tried to get you to talk to him for weeks and weeks before you did – "

Harry looked at Ron, who shook his head, mystified. Taking a deep breath, Harry tried again. "Look, Hermione, I know him better than you do – if he didn't like you, I'd've figured that out by now. I don't think he's got _time_ to not like you. He's just not the over-emotional type – "

Hermione finally raised her head. "And I _am_ the over-emotional type, is that it?" she snapped.

"No!" Harry was at a total loss; he couldn't begin to figure out how Hermione had got the idea that Black didn't like her, and he couldn't see why it was so important to her, either. Snape had never liked any of them, and even McGonagall, their own head of house, wasn't exactly the warm and friendly sort. Was it because Black was also Harry's godfather? Harry had never been particularly bothered about somebody not liking him, but then again, he'd been raised in a house where the fact that everyone hated him was no secret…

"Hey!" came a voice from the other side of the portrait hole. "Can someone let me in?"

"Bloody hell, Neville's forgot the password again," said Ron, and got up to help him.

Neville's cheeks were red, as though he'd been running. "You're never going to believe this," he gasped, pressing one hand against the wall to steady himself. "Malfoy – "

At the sound of the name, Fred and George both quickly leapt out of their chairs and were at Neville's side at once. "Oliver, get over here!" Fred shouted, and then said to Neville, "Malfoy what? Got expelled?"

Neville shook his head, still trying to catch his breath; Harry got to the portrait hole a second before Wood did. "Got kicked off Quidditch?" George asked. "Has detention until he finishes school?"

"Malfoy – " Neville gulped. "Malfoy's got off."

Wood stared for a moment, and then began to shout a long string of expletives.

"FILTHY ROTTEN SON OF A – "

"Are you _sure_, Neville?" Harry asked.

Neville nodded. "He's still got detention for trying to hex Millicent Bulstrode – everyone who was in the fight's got detention for that – but he's not being punished for sending the Valentines."

" – DUNG-EATING WANKER – "

"_Why_?"

" – LYING SACK OF – "

"Oliver!" Fred shouted. "Shut up a second, we can't hear Neville!"

Wood stopped, his face still contorted with fury. "Besides," added George, "I think one of the first-years just fainted. Go on, Neville."

By this time, Angelina, Alicia and Katie had joined the group, as well as several other people. "The Slytherins all ended up in the hospital wing," Neville said. "I ran into Justin Finch-Fletchley – he was there because of a funny rash he'd got in Herbology. Malfoy had blood all down the front of his robes from his nose and the rest of them were bruised and hexed and stuff. Snape and Dumbledore'd followed them in there – Snape was trying to argue that Malfoy ought to get just two weeks of detention, but then Pansy Parkinson started crying and said he always took Malfoy's side – "

"I knew I liked her," Ron said. Harry elbowed him in the ribs.

"Dumbledore said something about how what Malfoy'd done was more serious than two weeks of detention. Then he said that all of them could discuss it in his office later after the Slytherins were out of the hospital wing, and he'd just got up to leave when Black came in – "

"_Black_?"

"Yeah, when Black came in and asked if he could see the cards."

Several people began to talk at once. "Be quiet!" Wood yelled.

Neville took a deep breath and continued. "Justin didn't see this part – Madam Pomfrey realized he was listening in and pulled one of the curtains, but he could still hear everything – Snape said something like, 'I hardly think this situation needs any of your meddling' – "

"Git," whispered Ron to Harry.

" – and Black said, 'I was just wondering if anyone had thought to compare handwriting to make sure Draco really did write these cards.' Snape said they hadn't, and Black said he had Malfoy's last homework assignment with him – "

The voices broke out again. "Hang on," said Fred, loud enough to be heard over everyone else. "You're saying Black got Malfoy off?"

Neville thought for a moment. "Well," he said, "Justin said Dumbledore was the one who decided that the handwriting was too different to say for sure that Malfoy had written them, but – yeah."

"I can't believe it," Lee muttered. "I thought Black used to be in Gryffindor himself!"

"Yeah," said Fred bleakly. "Bloody lot of good that does us…"

Harry was tempted to blurt out that Black had been the one who'd given the team the Firebolts, but managed to stop himself.

"Why does he want to look out for Malfoy?" Angelina asked. "Malfoy hates him, everyone knows that – "

"Yeah, and Malfoy's parents – "

"I thought for sure the slimy git was going to be kicked off Quidditch – "

" – wonder how Black thought to – "

"Everybody shut up a minute!"

Harry looked; Wood had climbed atop one of the tables and stood over them all, nearly as tall as Hagrid. "Shut up!" he yelled again, and conversation ceased.

"Look," Wood began. His voice was much softer now that he had everyone's attention; even Percy, coming down the stairs from the boys' dormitories, had stopped in his tracks. "We were all hoping that Malfoy would end up suspended from Quidditch or even expelled, but it's not going to happen, and that's not Black's fault. If he thought Malfoy hadn't done it, he _should_ have said something. He – "

"Snape never would have done it for any of us," said someone near the back.

"I know," Wood replied, "but Black's not Snape. He's better than Snape. _We're_ better than Snape, and we're better than Flint and Bole and Derrick and that little piece of filth, Malfoy. No one on our team bought their way in, and no one on our team thinks they're better than anyone else because they've got a better broomstick. No one on our team cheats. No one on our team _needs_ to cheat, and we're not going to lower ourselves to the Slytherins' level. If Dumbledore says it's too hard to tell if Malfoy wrote the cards, that's what we're going with. Unless," he added, lowering his eyebrows and sweeping his gaze across the crowd, "anyone here thinks they know better than Dumbledore?"

No one did.

"I don't want to hear anyone complaining about what Black did. If Malfoy didn't do it, he didn't do it. Knowing him, he'll probably do something stupider soon enough." Several people laughed. "And if it turns out he really did do it and Dumbledore figures that out, well, so much the better for us. Okay? Thanks."

A smattering of applause broke out as Wood climbed down from the table. Harry felt something tap his shoulder; he turned around to see Hermione standing behind him, her face ashen. "Wood's right," she whispered. "We can't lower ourselves to Malfoy's level. I'm going to go and tell Black I did it."

Harry glanced at Ron. "Okay," he said. "We'll go with you."

They walked quickly down the stairs and corridors, realizing that they only had another half hour until curfew. "I don't know what I was _thinking_!" Hermione moaned. "It seemed like the perfect idea, and if I'd stopped to ask you two I wouldn't have had time to get the cards done – what if I end up _expelled_?"

"Then Black's mental," Ron said. "No one's going to expel the best student in our year. The worst that'll happen is that you'll get detention and have to write home to your parents." Hermione didn't look particularly reassured.

Black's office door was closed. "Ready?" Harry asked Hermione. She nodded and knocked on the door.

There were a few seconds of muffled conversation, and then Black said, "Come in." Hermione took a deep breath and turned the doorknob.

To Harry's amazement, Pansy Parkinson was sitting in one of Black's armchairs with a cup of hot chocolate. She looked up at them and scowled. "Good news," Black said, rising from his seat. There was the barest hint of a smile on his face. "Pansy's going to testify."


	48. Chapter 48

"She followed me out of the infirmary and volunteered," Black said when Pansy had gone. "I wouldn't want you to think that I took advantage of this situation to talk her into it."

"She _volunteered_?" Harry asked incredulously. "How'd she know that Swift was – "

"I have absolutely no idea," Black replied. He pressed his lips together and frowned slightly. "The Malfoys must've got wind of it somehow – I was going to ask her but then she started crying again and we ended up in here." Suddenly, he started laughing. "If the three of you can get Pansy to tell you why she's turned on Draco, trust me, you'll be very entertained. Don't bother her about it now, though, she's still upset about – " His voice slowed as the laughter left his face. "The Valentines."

There was a silence. "Professor – " Hermione began.

Black held up his hand. "I don't want any of you to say another word until I'm finished," he said. "I don't know if any of you had anything to do with it, but I'm a teacher, and if I find out anything about who really made those cards, I can't keep it to myself and maintain a clear conscience. Right now I've got a few theories as to who did it and no way to prove any of them. Whoever did it, it was a very stupid idea." A flush of color rose in Hermione's cheeks, but Black continued without a pause. "However, it's done now. If Pansy finds out who made the cards and that person is connected to this matter in the slightest, I think the odds are good that she'll change her mind about testifying. That person – or those people – are also going to end up severely punished, though they might avoid being expelled."

As quickly as it had appeared, the color drained from Hermione's face. Even though she'd loosened her standards about breaking rules, Harry was sure Hermione would still rather die than be expelled from Hogwarts.

"Great," said Ron, his hand going straight for the doorknob. "We've got to go or else we'll miss curfew. Come on, Hermione."

Harry followed behind the two of them, not daring to look back. "You're not getting expelled over this," Ron said to Hermione as they reached the stairs. "If you go confessing to Black or anyone else, I'll tell them I did it instead."

"And if Ron confesses, I'll confess," said Harry. The thought of Hermione being expelled was bad enough, but the thought of her being expelled for trying to help Buckbeak was worse. "They'll have to figure out which one of us is lying – "

"And then they might expel us all," Ron finished. "We'll have to go live in Hagrid's hut and be assistant gamekeepers."

"Don't be silly," was all that Hermione said.

Over the next few days, the question of who had written "the Slytherin Valentines" turned into something of a running joke in Gryffindor. "Bet it was McGonagall," said Lee, balancing his tarantula on top of his dreadlocks. Ginny was staring at him in horrified fascination. "Part of her secret plan to help us win the Quidditch Cup."

"You're mad," said Fred, watching as the enormous spider tapped Lee's forehead with one hairy leg. "It's Cedric Diggory. His secret dark side's triumphed at last." He leaned back in his chair and called out, "Oy, Ronniekins! Come see what Lee's tarantula is doing!"

"Do me a favor and hex his eyebrows off," Ron muttered to Harry. They were one table away from Lee and the twins and Ron was looking resolutely in the other direction, sorting through his Chocolate Frog cards. "Hex them off and then reattach them so they're coming out his nose."

"Well, I don't think it was Astrophil," Lavender said. She was sitting across from them, reading the mysterious letter for what Harry thought must be about the dozenth time; Crookshanks, ever-protective of his favorite piece of paper, was sitting on the table with his paw over _it's not_ _often_. "This letter is old, Hermione."

"What?" Hermione asked, setting down her Ancient Runes book and peering over Lavender's shoulder. "How do you know?"

"Because it smells like mothballs," Lavender said matter-of-factly. "Plus, look, it's starting to yellow at one edge. Where did Crookshanks get this?"

"I'm not sure – he didn't have it on the train to school and then he had it in the Entrance Hall that same day – "

"So it could be from anybody's pocket," Lavender said. "Can he open trunks?"

"I don't think so…" Crookshanks rolled onto his back, his head covering a whole corner of the letter. "I wish you could talk," said Hermione, scratching him behind the ears. Crookshanks began to purr loudly.

"Maybe _he_ wrote it," said Ron, stacking his five Cliodna cards on top of Circe. "Maybe he's an Animagus and years ago he gave it to McGonagall, only she told him it was over and – "

"Be quite a minute," Hermione said suddenly. "Crookshanks…" The bottlebrush tail thumped against the table. "Ron, could you say it again?"

Ron blinked. "What?"

"The bit about Crookshanks and McGonagall, say it again."

"Okay," said Ron, giving Crookshanks a wary look. "Maybe he wrote it and he's an Animagus – "

It was undeniable. At the word "Animagus," Crookshanks's ears had perked up.

"Let me try it," Harry said. He folded his arms on the table and rested his chin on his hands. "We were reading in Transfiguration about a wizard who was an Animagus – " The ears twitched again.

Lavender's voice was hushed. "Does he understand English?"

"I – I'm not sure," Hermione replied. "Crookshanks, if you understand what I'm saying, jump off the table – "

The huge ginger cat thumped his tail again. "Jump off the table and go find the Animagus – "

Crookshanks didn't jump off the table, but his ears perked up once more.

"Big deal," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "So someone taught it to him. One time George trained Errol to fly in circles anytime anyone said the word 'cummerbund.'"

"Maybe," said Hermione, but Harry thought she didn't quite sound convinced.

Harry's anti-dementor lessons weren't going nearly as well as he would have liked. Even though he'd produced a fairly good Patronus at the Quidditch match, the most he could manage now were large clouds of silver fog. "You've got too many other things on your mind," Black said, picking up the tiny, defeated boggart-Lupin and throwing him into the box. "I think that's only to be expected."

"Yeah," Harry said, watching as Black buckled a leather strap over the box. The boggart inside rattled and lurched. "There's a murderer after me, Buckbeak might end up executed, I've got to beat Malfoy to the Snitch in another few weeks…" Still, he was disappointed with himself. If he knew how much the dementors affected him and he was determined to learn how to fight them, why couldn't he force everything else out of his mind when he needed to?

"You forgot about school," Black said, smiling.

"Oh, yeah, school…and this summer. How many empty bedrooms did you say there were? Six?"

"Yes, six. I wrote to Kreacher last week to say that you were coming home with me in June – "

"And he's not happy," Harry finished, sitting down in one of the armchairs.

"He sent me a dead fish in response."

"What does he do all day in that house, anyway?" Harry asked. "You said the house is a wreck and no one's cleaned the empty bedrooms in years – "

"I said the house is on the verge of being a wreck."

"Oh, sorry, the _verge_ of being a wreck – "

Black grinned, reached over, and ruffled Harry's hair. "Yes, the _verge_ – very important difference." He stepped back and sat in the other chair. "I'm not really sure what Kreacher does all day. He spends a lot of time talking with my mother's portrait, I know that."

"Does it talk back like the ones here?"

"Unfortunately. I can manage to keep her quiet if I pull a curtain over it, but – "

At that moment, there was a loud knock at the door; Harry jumped. "Let me in, Sirius, for God's sake," said someone outside. It was a strange sort of voice, either low for a woman or high for a man. Black, however, seemed to recognize it, and got up to open the door.

A plump, ruddy-faced wizard in a spring-green cloak rushed in. He had ornate silver buckles on his boots and strawberry blond hair that contributed to the impression that his head was entirely pink. Before he had time to say another word, Harry had guessed who he was.

"You're – "

"Later," said the wizard, reaching into the pocket of his cloak. "You have to hear what's in this book, Sirius."

"This is Brutus Swift," Black said to Harry. "Brutus, this is – "

"Obviously," replied Brutus Swift, thrusting an old, musty-smelling volume towards Black. "This, less obviously, is called _The Fair Art of Blood Magick_. I got a letter about it yesterday from your Miss Granger." Just as Black was about to take the book, Swift snatched it away from him and opened it. "It has instructions towards the back for how to perform blood magic – "

"It can't," Black said at once. He looked stunned.

"Of course it can. Be quiet and listen to me.

"'_Recipe for Protection_,'" Swift read aloud. "'At a dawn near summer's end, take thou a virgin egg from its mother phoenix's nest. When one and twenty hours hath passed, crack open thy egg and vanish wholly its yolk. Combine then with this lingering white the red of thy own veins. On the night the moon is black, expose thy potion to the stars' light, for then it shall verily take on its power. When thou hast done all that is writ, spill thy potion to protect. If the object be away, write his name as it thou say. If thy object be nearby, the potion on his threshold lie.'"

Black exhaled slowly. "Brutus, I used to teach Potions back in Berlin and I only understood about half of what you just said. Slow down, would you?"

"Here, read it yourself if you can't keep up!" Swift rolled his eyes and thrust the book at Black again. He must be a very good lawyer, Harry decided, because Black obviously wasn't hiring him for his social graces.

Black read the passage again while Swift waited. "What does it mean?" Harry asked after about a minute had passed.

"It's a recipe for a protective potion," Black said, looking up. "Early in the morning near the end of summer, you take a virgin egg – an unfertilized egg – from a phoenix's nest and then crack it open twenty-one hours later. After you've got rid of the yolk you mix the white of the egg with your own blood."

"Then you expose the whole thing to starlight on a night where there's no moon," said Swift, who seemed to think that Black wasn't explaining it quickly enough. "If you're away from whoever you're protecting, you say his name as you write it with the potion. If he's close by, you spill it outside his door." He stopped, looked at Black, and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"If you're trying to tell me something, just say it, Brutus," said Black. He closed his eyes and pinched the top of the bridge of his nose.

Swift looked extremely vexed. "It's so _obvious_ – "

"It's not obvious to me, Brutus, so do me a favor and – "

"Fine, then," Swift retorted. "Your Remus is trying to protect Harry."

Black's eyelids flew open. Harry didn't move; it was as though his entire body had frozen, except for his heart, which was beating rapidly. _Lupin was – Lupin couldn't be –_

"Do you have any idea what you're saying?" Black asked Swift. His voice was dangerously soft. "Remus betrayed James and Lily to Voldemort. He killed thirteen people with a single curse. Why on _earth_ would he – "

"You're asking yourself the wrong question," Swift said calmly. The irritation seemed to have left him. "Protecting Harry goes with nearly everything you know about Remus Lupin – it's the betrayal and murders that are incongruous. What if he was under the Imperius Curse?"

"I don't let myself think things like that."

Swift looked at Black as though Black had lost his mind. "You _don't let yourself think things like that_? He was your – "

"I don't let myself think things like that," Black repeated, "because he's hurt me enough. I'm not going to let myself believe something I know isn't true – "

"Don't give me that. You're not going to consider something because you're afraid it isn't true, but what if it _is_ true? Don't you think you owe yourself – "

Something in Black's face changed. The first time he had seen him, Harry had thought that Black looked like a marble statute; now the marble had cracked. Something had broken. As Harry watched with shock, Black leaned over, buried his face in his hands, and started sobbing.


	49. Chapter 49

Before Harry could even begin to think of what he should do, Swift had crouched down next to Black and rested one hand on his shoulder. "Look, it's not too late," he said; his voice was quiet but intense. "You're both alive and you're both still young men. Even if Remus did escape, I've got enough clout to get him an appeal and you've got enough money to pay for it. They convicted Remus partially because of what Lucius Malfoy said, and his credibility's been going steadily down the tubes ever since the Aurors started searching his house."

Black was still shaking as he sobbed; Harry wanted to go to him, but Swift was in the way. "When they put it all together, being a dark creature might not even count against him," Swift continued. "He fought against Fenrir Greyback and Greyback's everyone's nightmare of a werewolf. No one's going to be able to argue that Remus was really on Greyback and Voldemort's side when Greyback nearly clawed his eye out. It came as a shock to a lot of people when Remus was arrested. The Ministry will remember that. They'll realize that Remus was a brave and devoted fighter who couldn't have been coerced into betraying his friends – they'll realize that killing thirteen people in broad daylight is the last thing a quiet, unobtrusive man would do. I'll _make_ them realize it." He paused and looked over at Harry. "I think he might have a handkerchief somewhere in his desk – could you – "

Harry swallowed. "Could you do it instead?"

Swift's eyes met his; they were an icy, piercing blue, but somewhere underneath there was understanding. "Of course," he said quietly, and got to his feet.

Slowly, Harry rose from his seat and took a step towards Black's chair. Aside from Hagrid, whose loud expressions of emotion he'd grown used to, he'd never had to deal with a crying adult before, much less one who was clearly in so much misery. He knelt down in front of Black, where Swift had been; Black's face was entirely covered by his hands and his hair. All Harry could hear were the low, wretched sobs. It was like hearing an animal in pain. "Sirius?"

Black took one hand away from his face and lifted his head slightly. His face had turned a blotchy red and there were tears streaming from his eyes. Harry was used to Black looking older when he was faced with some sorrow from the past – used to the gaunt, desperate look – but for whatever reason, Black seemed younger. His usual calm dignity had completely vanished; it was as though the years had fallen away and he was his former self again, a devastated man only a little older than a boy whose friends had just been murdered and who was suddenly finding himself completely alone in the world.

He threw his arms around Harry, rested his head on Harry's shoulder, and cried, gasping for air as his body shook. "It's okay," Harry whispered; without thinking about what he was doing, he rested one hand on Black's back and gently rubbed it in a circle. Something buried deep within his mind knew that this was what he was supposed to do, that this was how to comfort someone crying. "It's going to be okay. We're going to find Lupin and figure out what happened – it's going to be okay."

Black loosened his hold and lifted his head from Harry's shoulder; Harry felt a faint sensation of cold as the air touched the wet spot on his robe. "Did you remember that from Lily?" Black asked softly. "That's what she did with you."

There was a noise like someone's throat clearing; Harry looked up and saw Swift standing beside them with a handkerchief. Harry took it and gave it to Black, who unfolded it and blotted at his face. "He's right," Swift said. "We're going to find Remus – damned if I know how, but we're going to do it."

Black was quiet for a moment. "I never understood it," he said, brushing back a lock of damp hair. "I've believed it for years, but I've never understood it – why in God's name would Remus betray James and Lily? Why? He never cared about blood supremacy, he never had any reason to side with Voldemort – we were all his friends, the first friends he'd ever had." He took a deep breath. "That was one of the most important things in the world to him. I lived with that man for nearly a decade, and it is simply _not possible_ that he could have turned against us all without my knowing it. He could lie when he had to, but live a life in which every single thing was a lie? And let's say he didn't want to betray Lily and James but he still had his free will, let's say the Death Eaters had something to threaten him with. All he would have had to do is look over at me some night and say, 'Sirius, I need you to help me – they're trying to force me to give up Lily and James.' He knew that, he knew I would have helped him in a second – I would have rather stabbed myself through the heart than let anything happen to them.

"And Peter – if Remus had helped Voldemort to kill Lily and James, he would have been a wreck afterwards. He couldn't have killed another friend if it was a matter of life or death. _Thirteen people_, thirteen people with one curse – it's too much spectacle for Remus. A man who spends his entire life trying to be ignored does not suddenly murder thirteen people on an open street in broad daylight. It goes against everything in his nature. I've believed it – I've had to believe it. But not once in twelve years have I ever, ever understood it."

"Before we go any further with this," Swift said, "I'll admit my theory's got some holes. First of all, I don't know where you'd get a phoenix egg, much less how you'd get one in Azkaban. Then there's the question of whether Remus knew about this potion in the first place."

"I don't think he could have," said Black. "I've studied blood magic for years and this is the first I've ever heard of this book. Then again, there are dark wizards in Azkaban who know things the rest of us have never dreamed of – " He stopped and exhaled sharply. "I don't know which bothers me more, that I'm wondering whether Remus is innocent or that I was so quick to abandon the hope that he was in the first place."

"You were twenty-one," Swift replied. "You were twenty-one, and the entire magical government was insisting that he was guilty. There was so much uncertainty during the war – whether you would live, who you could trust – "

"He hadn't been acting normally," Black murmured. Harry had to strain his ears to hear him. "He'd get letters and burn them after he'd read them, and he'd never tell me what they were about. He'd be gone for a few hours and refuse to tell me where he'd been." Black closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again. "I thought he was seeing someone."

"He could have been a lot of places, and there could have been a lot of reasons why he couldn't tell you." At some point, the book had fallen to the floor; Swift bent down and picked it up. "I've read this entire book, and the protective spell is the only one that involves writing in blood or spilling blood in front of someone's door. As far as I'm concerned, the odds that Remus was forced to betray Lily and James are better than the odds that he did it willingly. What I'm concerned about are the odds that we can find him before the Ministry does. He hasn't been seen since November. Can you think of anywhere that he might – "

Black shook his head. "His parents and all of our old friends are dead. He tried our old cottage back in August, but I sold that years ago."

"Was that the one in Wiltshire? The one the _Daily Prophet_ said he'd tried to break into?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever try to pick up the scent there?" Swift asked.

"I did," said Black, "but I couldn't follow it." He looked down at Harry and sighed. "I realize this isn't exactly the ideal time to tell you, but I'm an unregistered Animagus."

Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. How could Black be – "You're a – "

"An unregistered Animagus," Black repeated. "I made the transformation illegally when I was fifteen. So did your father and Peter Pettigrew – we did it for Remus, so we could be with him during the full moon. Werewolves are only dangerous to humans. I'm a dog."

"A black dog," Swift added.

"There was a black dog at the Quidditch match," Harry said slowly. "In the stands, when we played Hufflepuff – "

"I smell things better as a dog," Black replied. "It wasn't that long after Remus had got into the castle – I wanted to be able to protect you in case he came to the match. If he had, I could have picked up his scent before anyone even saw him."

"Is that the thing the healers would find in your blood?" asked Harry. "The thing that's why you couldn't have me live with you?"

"No, that's something else entirely. If the healers found out I was an unregistered Animagus, I'd have to register and pay a fine. It's unlikely they would, though; it doesn't affect your blood, or anything else about your body when you're in human form."

"Hermione's cat twitches his ears whenever anyone says 'Animagus,'" Harry said. "We don't know why – do you know anything about that?"

Black shook his head. "I have no idea."

"Hermione Granger?" asked Swift. "The girl who wrote to me about this book?"

"Yeah – only I didn't know she was going to write to you. She saw that book in Hogsmeade months ago."

"You'll have to meet her," Black said, leaning back in his chair. "You'll like her, she's very intelligent."

"Sirius," said Swift, handing him the book, "if Remus ends up being found innocent because she wrote to me about this, I won't just like Hermione Granger, I'll throw her a party, write her an ode every year, and remember her in my will."


	50. Chapter 50

But Harry's mind wasn't on Hermione. "My dad was an unregistered Animagus too?" he asked Black. "What sort of animal could he turn into?"

"A stag," Black replied. "Peter was a rat – he used to have to sit on James's antlers and hang on tight so he could keep up with the rest of us."

Harry had been standing up to go back to his chair, but suddenly he stopped. "Peter Pettigrew was a rat Animagus?"

"Yes," said Black, looking puzzled. "Why?"

Harry shrugged and sat down again. "It's just weird – Crookshanks, Hermione's cat? The one whose ears twitch whenever someone says 'Animagus'? He really hated Ron's rat, Scabbers."

Black and Swift exchanged looks. "Well," Swift said slowly, "they were a cat and a rat."

"I know," said Harry immediately, "but, I mean…he really hated him…" He stopped, feeling stupid. Both Black and Swift were looking at him as though they were trying to find the kindest way to tell him how wrong he was. "Look, you weren't there, okay?" he blurted out. "Even if Crookshanks had just eaten too much, he'd see Scabbers and lunge at him. I'm not saying Scabbers was Pettigrew or anything – I know Pettigrew's dead, I'm not stupid – "

"Of course you're not stupid," said Black. "I'm just trying to think of other explanations. You're right, it does sound a little odd when you put it all together – "

"Well, one way to find out," Swift said, leaning back against Black's desk. "Where's the rat?"

"We don't know," Harry told him. "He disappeared – we think maybe somebody's owl got into our room and carried him off. There was blood on Ron's sheets. There aren't – there aren't other rat Animagi, are there?"

"Not registered ones," Black said. He stretched out his legs in front of him. "But I suppose if we managed the transformation when we were fifteen, there's no telling how many Animagi there really are – "

Swift shook his head. "I can see where you two are coming from," he said, "but personally, I don't see anything to indicate that the rat wasn't a rat. The cat hated the rat, the rat disappeared, the cat has twitchy ears. The end."

Harry and Black looked at him. "Besides," Swift continued, "let's say for the sake of argument that the rat was really an Animagus. The only rat Animagus we know of is Peter Pettigrew and at least a hundred people saw him lying dead in his coffin."

"All right," Black replied. "Let's say for the sake of argument that the rat was really an Animagus. What was he doing living as Harry's best friend's pet?"

"Spying for Voldemort, I suppose," said Swift, rolling his eyes.

"If you think this is funny, Brutus – "

"I _don't_," Swift retorted. "Harry, when did your friend get the rat?"

"Ages ago," Harry said. The tendons in Black's neck were standing out. "He was Ron's brother Percy's rat first – then Percy got an owl and didn't want him anymore."

"When did Percy get the rat?"

"I'm not sure. Ron had Scabbers when I met him."

Swift gave Black a pointed look. "Fine," Black said. "I'm satisfied. But let me say this, Brutus, it's blatantly obvious that you don't have any children."

Swift waved his hand dismissively. "What's blatantly obvious to me is that we need someone able and willing to devote all of his time to searching for Remus. What would you think if I asked Alastor Moody?"

"I've already asked him to take my job next year if I can't," said Black. "I don't want to ask another favor of him if it's at all possible."

"Fine," Swift replied, "but it might not _be_ at all possible. We need someone with Auror-level skills and no previous commitments – besides, you'd probably be doing _him_ a favor. You know he's chomping at the bit to be back in action."

"Who exactly is Alastor Moody?" Harry asked. "Besides the bloke who might have your job next year, I mean."

Black opened his mouth to reply, but Swift beat him to it. "Alastor Moody," he said, pushing himself up onto Black's desk, "is a former Auror with one leg, a disfigured face, and a magical eye that sees out the back of his head. They call him Mad-Eye Moody. He was fantastically good at his job, but the Ministry decided he'd got old and paranoid." Swift snorted. "A couple of weeks after Moody left, Remus broke out of Azkaban. If the Ministry had any sense they'd be groveling on their knees to get Moody back."

"I know him from the first war," Black added. "He can be a little disconcerting – "

"Especially once you realize he can use that eye to see through clothing if he wants to," said Swift.

" – but Brutus is right, he was a wonderful Auror. He's ferocious." Black looked at Swift. "That's another reason I'm not sure we should ask him. If Moody finds Remus, are we sure he'd bring him back in one piece?"

"Oh, he'll bring him back in one piece. He'd love the chance to show the Auror Office they were fools when they sacked him. Besides, if it turns out Remus was innocent all along, Moody'll love the chance to bring down whoever was really responsible, especially if it's Lucius Malfoy. If Moody's the king of the Aurors, Lucius Malfoy's his missing crown jewel. Oh, that reminds me – I stopped by Malfoy Manor last night and talked to Kingsley Shacklebolt. They've put him in charge of the entire search – "

"That's the first I've heard," Black said. "No one from the Auror Office has been keeping me up to date and I think it's appalling."

"Oh, you never even liked Regulus."

"I may have never liked him, but that doesn't mean I'm not interested to know whether our cousin and her contemptible husband killed him. What did Shacklebolt tell you?"

"Well, don't blame _him_," said Swift, exasperated. "They've got policies about what information goes public and when. All I could get out of him was that they found a photograph of Regulus and Narcissa that has the date '19 October, 1981' written on the back."

"The nineteenth of October?"

"Yes, the nineteenth of October." Swift gave him a curious look. "What's the significance of that?"

"The last time anyone saw Regulus was the seventeenth," Black said quietly. His fingers were digging into the armrests of his chair. "They established that during the initial investigation after he disappeared – the last time anyone saw Regulus was on the seventeenth of October when he stopped by my mother's house in the afternoon. He brought her a pound cake and told her he had a few days off from researching because Slughorn was going on holiday to Spain." Suddenly, he leapt to his feet and began to pace the room. "I knew it, I knew they killed him. Maybe it was Lucius and not Narcissa, but at least one of them did it."

Swift looked at Harry. "You know," he said, almost under his breath, "it never gets boring around your godfather."


	51. Chapter 51

_A week later._

"Still no news," Black said, looking up from the papers on his desk as Harry shut the door behind him, "You know, you really don't have to check every day – "

"Yeah, I guess," said Harry. In truth, he wasn't so much checking to see whether Moody had agreed to look for Lupin as he was making sure that Black was managing to cope. "So Moody's still in the Caribbean?"

"Still in the Caribbean. I'm beginning to wonder if _he's_ under the Imperius Curse – you have no idea how absolutely bizarre the idea of Alastor Moody on holiday is."

"I'm thinking of sending Portia to work on him," Swift said to Black. He was sitting in one of the red armchairs, paging through a thick leather-bound book; from the way it was propped up on Swift's leg, Harry couldn't see what was inside it. "He doesn't want to take it on in case the Ministry interferes with him – they _can't_, it's legally ridiculous – and he's always had a soft spot for Portia. Portia's my secretary," he added to Harry.

Black gave Swift an odd look. "Portia's your _wife_."

"Yes," Swift agreed, "but that's not relevant in this context. You know, the Auror office wasn't altogether wrong when they decided Moody was paranoid. They just didn't realize how useful it could be to them. Is your cousin Nymphadora absolutely sure she wants to throw her lot in with the Aurors? Great in the field, but I swear to God, I think they're getting bureaucratically stupider every year."

"That reminds me – see if you can find that photograph of Nymphadora with Harry," said Black. "It should be towards the back, I think."

"I met Nymphadora before?" Harry asked, surprised. "When?"

Black grinned. "Well, I wouldn't say _met_, exactly – you spit up on her shoulder. Remus and I brought you over to Andromeda and Ted's so they could meet the new godson."

"I think I've got it," said Swift, flicking back a few pages in the leather-bound book. "Four feet tall with blue hair?"

"That's it," Black said. Swift turned the book around and handed it to Harry.

Harry had never seen one of his baby pictures before; he wasn't in any of the pictures of his parents Hagrid had given him, and the Dursleys had certainly never wanted any photographs of him in the house. Nymphadora, perhaps around eight years old, was standing near a window, wearing a striped purple jumper and smiling as she held him. From the red and orange leaves on the tree outside, Harry guessed he must have been only a few months old. As he watched, the baby Harry yawned and Nymphadora adjusted him in her arms.

"Lot of hair," Swift said, putting one foot on his knee to wipe the mud spatters off his shoe. "I was bald until I was two years old."

Harry sat in the other armchair and began to page through the photo album. The next few pictures were all of him and Black – Black sprawled on someone's couch while Harry slept on his chest, Black sitting on the floor watching Harry squirm on a blanket, Black in a Muggle suit and Harry, tiny and red-faced, in a long white christening gown. "I wore that suit jacket for exactly three minutes," Black said, leaning forward onto his desk to look over Harry's shoulder. "It was the hottest day of the year and we were in a Muggle church with no air conditioning – your dad kept teasing your mum because you could have been baptized WCG and we'd've spent the whole time surrounded by cooling charms."

Harry looked back at him. "What's WCG?"

"Wizarding Church of God," said Swift before Black could. He looked over at Black as well. "I thought you were Catholic."

"I am," said Black. "Not that my family was any good at it…Harry, go back a bit and find the pictures of you with your grandparents, will you?"

"My _what_?"

"Grandparents," Black repeated. "They died before your parents did, but your mother's parents were both still alive when you were born."

Harry paged backwards and then stopped. There were two photographs – two _Muggle_ photographs – of him with an older couple, and, to his amazement, the man's eyes were the exact same shade of green as his own. In both pictures his grandfather was wearing a bow tie and smiling proudly. Harry's grandmother was quite small, her head barely reaching her husband's shoulder, and had blonde hair that reminded Harry very strongly of Aunt Petunia. They weren't even very old, he realized – probably not even sixty.

"How did they – "

"Car accident," said Black. "They'd gone to Dover on holiday and as they were driving back another car hit them head-on."

"The Dursleys always told me my parents died in a car accident," Harry said slowly.

"They never mentioned your grandparents?"

"No – I never thought to ask, really."

"Typical Petunia," Black said. "She never could get over the fact that her parents loved having a witch in the family. Harold – your grandfather – always read a lot of fantasy and science fiction, so you can imagine how thrilled _he_ was. Daisy was just relieved they finally knew what was so strange about Lily."

"How did my other grandparents die?"

"Nothing nearly as dramatic. They were both a lot older than Lily's parents – Lavinia had a heart attack just after we finished school and Theseus died in his sleep about a month after your parents found out your mum was pregnant. I used to live with James's family for a while – I ran away from home when I was sixteen."

"That was the first I heard of Sirius, actually," Swift said; Harry had forgotten for a moment that he was there. "His mother tried to get a court order to make him go back home."

"Tried for a while," said Black. "Then she figured I was more trouble than I was worth and she'd have to be content with Regulus."

"What exactly did you _do_?" Harry asked.

Perhaps he was imagining it, but for a split second Harry thought he saw Black and Swift exchange the briefest of glances. "Kept the wrong company, mostly," Black said, leaning back in his chair. "Had all the wrong friends, all the wrong ideas, didn't warm to the idea of marrying my cousin Bellatrix – oh, yes, my parents and hers were very keen on that one for a while," he added, noticing the horrified look on Harry's face. "She was nearing the ripe old age of twenty-seven without any marital prospects. When she finally married Rodolphus Lestrange I think I spent the entire wedding grinning."

"Did she _want_ to marry you?"

"Not in the slightest. I was her disgusting Gryffindor cousin who wasn't even old enough to get married and thought the idea of a wizard naming himself 'Lord Voldemort' was hilarious. Speaking of Gryffindor, how's Quidditch practice going?"

Quidditch practice had been increased to an hour and a half every weekday; the only thing stopping Wood from scheduling it for every single day was Fred and George's threat to quit the team if he did. "He's got N.E.W.T.s coming up," Hermione said, watching as Wood paced in front of the common room fireplace, his large furry earmuffs clamped on his head. "How is he finding the time to study?"

"He's not," Harry replied. "He says he doesn't need to – he knows everything from listening to Percy talk in his sleep."

Despite Wood's fears of defeat, there was at least one Slytherin who was convinced Gryffindor would win the Cup. "You'd better not be testifying for Buckbeak so you can get information from our side and pass it on to the Malfoys," Ron told Pansy Parkinson one morning. They were on the stairs to the dungeons, coming back from Potions class; Ron and Pansy had spilled powdered dragon scales on their table and Harry and Hermione had waited for Ron while they cleaned it up. "Because I'll tell you right now, it's not going to work."

"Don't be stupid," Pansy retorted, scowling at him. "If I wanted to help the Malfoys, I'd find a much easier way to do it, believe me. It's not exactly fun knowing I'm stuck on a side with _you_."

"So why don't you unstick yourself and go back to your little Slytherin friends?" asked Ron. "Getting pretty rotten at house loyalty, aren't you?"

"I don't _care_ if Draco's in my house," said Pansy, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms over her chest. "He doesn't care about the rest of us, and neither does Snape. I'm not going to let him lie and get whatever he wants just because his family's rich. He was _stupid_ – it's his own fault he got his arm cut by that hippogriff, and you know those bandages he had? The ones he kept on for weeks and weeks? Madam Pomfrey told him he could take him off, but he left them on anyway so everyone would think his arm was worse than it was."

Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione. "Yeah," he said. "We kind of figured that."

"Well, bloody good for you," Pansy snapped. "You think I'm stupid, but I'm not. I just never figured _he'd_ be so stupid and selfish that he'd sit out Quidditch practice when there was nothing wrong with his arm. Now we're going to lose the Quidditch Cup because Draco skived off a whole two months of practice and that moron Flint didn't boot him from the team." She paused for a moment and smirked. "Besides, Snape's going to do his nut when he finds out we're not all just shutting up to protect his precious Draco. Who cares if someone sends us all hate-mail Valentines? As long as precious _Draco_ did it, oh, that's just fine with Snape. He wanted that idiot to get off with just two weeks of detention, and then you know what he did? Once darling _Draco_ was off the hook, Snape changed his mind and said he wanted whoever did it expelled."

"Don't worry," Ron said to Hermione once Pansy was out of earshot. "If Snape figures it out, Swift'll save you. Maybe he'll subtract the legal fees from the money he's leaving you in his will, but – "

"Oh, stop it," said Hermione, looking embarrassed. "All I did was tell him about a book – for all we know, Swift's just theorizing and Lupin betrayed Harry's parents because he was on You-Know-Who's side all along."

For Black's sake, Harry hoped Hermione was wrong about Lupin. Despite the situations with Regulus and Buckbeak, Harry had noticed that Black seemed to be much happier lately. He was in such a good mood that Harry even risked asking something that he had wondered about since September.

"Sirius?"

"Hmm?" They were in Black's office, Harry looking at the photo album again while Black corrected papers.

"If you could have anything you wanted in the whole world – the thing you wanted the most – what would it be?"

Black set his quill down. "Now what makes you ask that?"

"I dunno," Harry said, hoping Black couldn't hear any of the nervousness he felt. "I was just thinking, looking at all these pictures – back in first year, I found the Mirror of Erised and it showed me my family."

If Black was suspicious, he didn't let on. "Well," he said, "I think if I could have anything I wanted in the whole world, your parents and Peter would be alive and Remus would be our friend the way he always was. Maybe that's too much for the thing I want most, but I've always been rather selfish that way."

"What about Regulus?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

"Well, I never _wanted_ Regulus to die," Black replied. "If somehow it turns out he's still alive somewhere, I'll be happy to hear it. But it's like Brutus said, I never liked him. We were more rivals than friends as children and he simply wasn't a very likeable person. Maybe he would be different now, but to be perfectly honest, I can't say that having Regulus alive is one of the things that I want most in the world. When it came to actual love, James was my brother much more than he was. I'm sorry if that sounds cold – "

"No, I get it," Harry said at once. "I mean, I wouldn't want the Dursleys to die, but if they did I wouldn't spend a lot of time wishing they were alive again." He thought for a moment. "So…if my dad was like your brother, what was Lupin like?"

Black picked up his quill again. "What do you mean?"

"Well – you and him were really close, right? You said something once about how you knew him in a way no one else did – "

"In some ways, I was closer to Remus than I was to anyone else," Black said, writing something on one of his papers. "He was one of the most important people in my life. Does that answer your question?"

"I guess," Harry answered. He supposed it was something like his friendship with Ron and Hermione; they were both his best friends, but he couldn't say that Ron was his best friend in the exact same way Hermione was. "If it turns out Lupin's innocent, is he going to live with us?"

"I think so," Black replied. He looked up for a moment and smiled. "Kreacher will have a fit, but Kreacher has a fit over just about everything I do. Over the Easter holidays, would you like to stop by the house and pick out a bedroom?"

"Of course I would!" Harry said excitedly. He paused for a second. If Black was willing to take him so many places, away from Hogwarts and the dementors – "You think Lupin's innocent, don't you?"

Black closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "Yes," he said quietly. "I think I do – God help me, but I do."


	52. Chapter 52

The day before the start of the Easter holidays, an enormous windstorm crashed a tree through the southern wall of Andromeda's house. "Luckily their bedrooms are all on the northern side," Black said, re-folding her letter and putting it back in his pocket. He had caught Harry in the corridor between Transfiguration and Charms. "I told her we'd have Easter at our house instead – we've got to leave today so we can help Kreacher clean the place. Run into Charms and tell Flitwick I'm pulling you out early. We'll send the luggage through the Floo Network and fly the motorbike to London."

Harry's heart leapt. "Are you allowed to take me out of school early?" he asked, hoping the answer was yes. "I mean, does Dumbledore know?"

Black looked mildly annoyed all of a sudden. "I don't know and I don't care," he said, leaning back against the wall. "If I had to report everything I did to Albus Dumbledore, I'd be locked up. Go tell Flitwick and then I'll help you with your trunk."

Hermione wasn't going home for the Easter holidays, but Ron was. "Wish I could get out of school early and go pick a new bedroom," he said, nudging a mouse with the tip of his wand. Over two years after Ron had tried to turn Scabbers yellow, they were finally learning how to change the color of small animals. "I don't even get to sleep in my bedroom over the holidays – Bill and Charlie are coming home and sharing it and I've got to sleep in Percy's room. Better than poor Ginny, though – she's got to sleep on a cot and let Auntie Muriel have her bed." He made a face. Auntie Muriel, apparently, was not one of the more pleasant Weasley relatives.

"Remember to study for exams," Hermione said. "You ought to go, Black's waiting for you."

"Right," Harry replied. "See you in two weeks."

"Oh, do me a favor," said Ron as Harry reached the door. "If you find any ugly baby photos of Malfoy's mum, ask to borrow them, okay?"

Gryffindor Tower appeared to be entirely deserted. "That one was mine during school," Black said, pointing to the door of the fifth-year boys' room. "This is yours? All right, you get your clothes together and I'll get your books. We'll have to stop by the Owlry and pick up Hedwig."

Harry's new shirt was waiting in the wardrobe; it was far nicer than any other shirt he'd ever had, royal blue with blue buttons and a stiff collar. "At some point we'll need to go shopping," Black said, watching as Harry folded a pair of jeans. "Not now, though, we can probably put it off until the summer – how tall are you these days?"

Harry didn't think he'd been measured since Mr. Ollivander had measured him for his wand. "I dunno," he said, tossing a pair of socks on top of his Herbology book. "Five feet two inches or something."

"No, you're taller than that." Black was studying him closely. "When was the last time you had your eyes examined?"

"When I was ten, I think."

"When was the last time you went to a dentist?"

That one Harry definitely didn't know, but it had been a long time. Aunt Petunia hated taking Dudley to the dentist because she inevitably got a lecture about not letting him eat so many sweets. "When I was…let me think, I'm pretty sure it was before I was ten…"

"I'll never forgive Dumbledore for this," Black said, snapping the trunk shut. "Why he didn't go over to the Dursleys and tell them he'd turn them into toads if they didn't take better care of you is beyond me. Here, I'll take this end and you take that one."

"I reckon he got busy," Harry said as they started down the stairs. As excited as he was to be getting out of classes early, he wished Black would be in a better mood. "With all the stuff he does – "

"Anyone who has time for a few games of tenpin bowling has time to apparate to Surrey and frighten a couple of Muggles." Black adjusted his hold on the trunk, his lips pressed together. "I might as well let you know now, I'm not feeling particularly benevolent towards Dumbledore at the moment. He thinks I ought to send you back to the Dursleys for a few weeks at the beginning of the summer."

Black's trunk was already in the common room, sitting next to the fireplace. "_Why_?" Harry asked, bewildered. "I don't need to go back there anymore, do I? I mean, they're not going to care if I never come within a mile of Privet Drive ever again."

"Dumbledore," replied Black, "contends there's some type of blood magic protecting you there – that because Lily died to save you, the blood tie between you and her sister is keeping you safe. I think it's absolute rubbish. If no one's tried to kill you at your aunt and uncle's, it's because Voldemort is floating around somewhere in Albania or wherever he's supposed to be and the Death Eaters all have strict orders that he's the only one allowed to kill you. Besides – " there was an edge to his voice " – I'm James's distant cousin, and the last I checked, he died to save you every bit as much as Lily did."

Harry didn't know what to say. Black took a small jar of floo powder from his pocket. "Kreacher's waiting on the other end to take our luggage," he said. "We'll do yours first." He lit the fireplace with the tip of his wand and tossed a pinch of powder onto the flames. "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."

As soon as the fire blazed green, Black pushed Harry's trunk into the fireplace. A moment later, it had disappeared and a gnarled, grayish hand shot up amidst the flames. "All right, he's got it," said Black, taking more floo powder. "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place – look, don't let what I've said about Dumbledore put you in a bad mood. We're going home and cleaning, and then we're hard-boiling a ridiculous number of eggs and coming up with a strategy for how to beat Nymphadora at egg-tapping. How does that sound?"

"Great," Harry said; the words "going home" were echoing in his head. "You said we're taking the motorbike?"

Black glanced at the fireplace. "Well, we could go by floo powder, but I thought you'd rather – "

Harry couldn't think of a worse way to get to London than floo powder. "Are you _joking_? Of course I'd rather take the motorbike, where is it?"

Black's motorbike was parked just past the main doors of the castle, leaning against the wall; Harry had to grin at the contrast between the thousand-year-old castle and the gleaming chrome. They had got Hedwig from the Owlry. "We're going to London – Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place," he told her, stroking the top of her head with one finger. "We'll meet you there, okay?"

Hedwig hooted softly and spread her wings; Harry and Black watched as she flew off into the distance. "You'll be spending the entire way to London with your arms around my waist and cold wind numbing your nose," said Black, turning to Harry. "Still in?"

"Still in."

Black arched his eyebrows, but he was starting to smile. "My hair's probably going to fly out from under my jacket and hit you in the face."

"Still in."

"James used to claim that the motor made him lose five percent of the hearing in his right ear."

Harry grinned. "You're not talking me out of this, Sirius. Still in."

Black started laughing. "All right," he said, climbing onto the motorbike. "If you start your Easter holiday whiplashed, cold and deaf, though, don't say I didn't warn you."

For once in his life, Harry was glad to be leaving school. The countryside around Hogwarts had never looked more beautiful than it did from a hundred feet in the air; the grass was still brown, but all the snow had finally melted and there were green buds sprouting from the tips of the tree branches. Harry even thought he could see the odd purple or yellow crocus if he squinted hard enough. "I suppose the Dursleys never took you to church, either," Black shouted over the roar of the engine.

Harry shook his head, then remembered, feeling stupid, that Black couldn't see him. "No, they never did."

"That's because your Uncle Vernon doesn't have enough imagination to believe in anything that can't be measured by the metric system. We're going for Palm Sunday, Good Friday and Easter Vigil."

There were more trees around them now; Black tilted the motorbike upward and accelerated. Harry wasn't sure how high up they were, but they were much too high to spot any crocuses.

As they flew on and the sun got brighter, Harry remembered why he and Ron had grown tired of flying in Mr. Weasley's Ford Anglia. His mouth felt dry and one of his arms was asleep, but he wasn't going to complain. He was going home.

It was around four o'clock in the afternoon when they finally reached London. "The Muggles can't see us, right?" Harry called to Black as they flew over several magnificent stone buildings. They were low enough now that he could make out the people on the pavement.

"They can't see a thing. Damn it, we're too far west, we've ended up over Piccadilly Circus. If you look down now you might see the fountain and statue."

Harry thought he saw it; at the very top of the fountain was a metal figure standing on one foot. "Has it got wings?"

"That's it." Black swerved the motorbike to the right. "That's Anteros – the Greek god of requited love. All right, get ready, we're going to land in a minute."

The streets below were starting to get distinctly darker and less magnificent; as the motorbike descended lower and lower, Harry could make out the broken windows in some of the houses. "Ready?" Black shouted. "Here we go – "

Harry's stomach leapt into his throat as they crashed to the ground. His knees were jolted upwards and he almost lost his hold around Black's waist; the tires squealed as they skidded down the street. "Hang on, hang on – " Black was saying. "We're slowing down, we can stop in a second – "

They _were_ slowing down, Harry realized. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. A few seconds later, they came to a halt and he heard the engine die as Black switched off the ignition.

"Are you all right?" Black asked.

"Yeah," said Harry, opening his eyes and looking around.

They were surrounded by dingy houses, the sort Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let Dudley within fifty feet of; someone was playing their stereo too loudly, and graffiti had been scrawled on more than one of the doors. Harry could tell if he looked closely that some of the houses were brick and others were stone, but he had to look very closely; every wall seemed to be covered in the same layer of grime. There was no one else in the street. "You live _here_?" Harry asked, amazed. Black had told him the house was a wreck, but he'd never thought that the entire street was so rundown.

"I think it was a better neighborhood when my ancestors built the house," said Black, wheeling the motorbike onto the pavement. His hair looked as though he'd just come out the windstorm that had ruined Andromeda's wall. "Not that it matters now, every place on this block is about an inch from condemnation. We're right over there – the one with the silver snake knocker on the door."

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place had clearly been a very grand residence around a hundred years ago. It was made of gray stone and had carvings of scrolls and flowers around each of the many windows. Harry couldn't begin to imagine how many rooms were inside; there were four whole stories, plus what looked like two extra rooms at the very top. "The Muggles can't see the house, either," said Black, lifting the door knocker and letting it fall. There was a creaking noise as the door opened. "Welcome to the hovel."


	53. Chapter 53

The still, dusty grandeur of the house seemed miles away from the graffiti and pounding music in the street; as Black shut the door behind them, the sound of the stereo died. Harry looked around, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.

With its high ceiling and tapestry-covered walls, the enormous entryway could have been a room at Hogwarts. Certainly at least one of the four founders would have approved of it; from the silver serpents that composed the chandelier to the carved wooden legs of the sofa, the entire room was decorated in snakes. Harry even noticed tiny embossed snakes on the wallpaper as Black lit a lamp with the tip of his wand. "Good thing you weren't at Hogwarts last year," Harry said, watching as the green crystals hanging from the chandelier seemed to glow in the light. "If anyone had known about this place, they would have thought _you_ were the heir of Slytherin."

"More like the heir of Slytherin's disciples," Black replied. There was a long string of cobweb hanging from the chandelier; he gently pinched it and watched it glide to the floor. "I'm the one and only Black to be sorted into another house, all the way back to Octavius the Black in the Dark Ages. He was Salazar Slytherin's right-hand man – when Godric Gryffindor came to ask Slytherin to reconsider leaving the school, Octavius threatened to cut Gryffindor to shreds with his own sword. That's a fair representation of the Black mentality on the whole, I'm afraid. Remus used to call my family the mad bad line."

Harry glanced at a heavy velvet drapery on the wall; from the way it clashed with the rest of the tapestries, he suspected this was the curtain Black used to cover the portrait of his mother. "How – mad, exactly?"

"Very mad." Black held out one hand and began to count off on his fingers. "There was my Great-Aunt Cassiopeia, who tried to drown her brother Marius – he was a Squib, didn't reflect well on the family. My Great-Grandfather Cygnus tried to poison the Minister of Magic, although no one could ever prove it. _His_ great-grandfather Hybris lead a raid on five Muggle villages and was given the dementor's kiss in Azkaban. Then there was Hybris's granddaughter, Elladora, who had the idea of beheading the house-elves once they were too old to work – "

"Did she actually _do_ it?"

"Not only did she do it, but she managed to convince them that it was an honor to be beheaded. Kreacher's still upset to this day that his mother died in her sleep and didn't go to the chopping block like her ancestors."

Harry thought of Dobby's parents, buried in the Malfoys' garden; with a pang, he realized he had yet to write to Dobby like he'd promised, and vowed to do it before he went to bed that night. "How'd they keep the family going, if they were that mad? Just find other pureblood nutters to marry?"

"Or marry their own." Black raised his eyebrows. "My grandfathers were cousins. Usually our family didn't get _quite_ so desperate as to marry off first cousins to each other, but Bellatrix and I were special cases. Her parents wanted their firstborn daughter to give them a grandchild before they died and my parents wanted someone who could keep me in line. Of course, her parents already had a grandchild, but Nymphadora didn't count for them." He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. "I might have to order Kreacher not to say a single word while the Tonkses are here. I hate to do it – I don't _like_ having that power over someone – but he's got very good at finding loopholes in his orders ever since I started giving them. I tell him to stay out of my bedroom and he stands in the doorway levitating my things. I tell him to make chicken soup and he leaves white feathers floating in the bowl. Once I told him to get out of my sight and he put out all the lights in the room. He'd rather stab himself in the foot than willingly be polite to a bunch of Muggle-borns and blood traitors."

"What's a blood traitor?" Harry asked. After the events of his second year at Hogwarts, he was quite familiar with how some wizards thought about Muggle-borns, but he couldn't remember ever hearing about blood traitors before. "How can you be a traitor to your own blood?"

"Blood as in ancestry, not the blood that's in your veins." There was a grand staircase at the other end of the entryway; Black went to it and began to climb the steps, Harry following him. "A blood traitor, basically, is a pureblood wizard who doesn't think he's superior to everyone else. I'm considered a blood traitor – so are the Weasleys, but that's not quite as egregious because they've been at it for generations. Andromeda's Kreacher's least favorite blood traitor of the whole lot because unlike me, she used to swallow all that rubbish. When she and her sisters were girls they used to plan to find three pureblood brothers to marry."

The staircase smelled like a sour combination of mothballs and mold. Leaning over the railing and looking up, Harry saw the upper stairs winding around and around like a maze above their heads. "So how'd Andromeda end up with Ted, then?" he asked Black. "If she wanted to marry a pureblood and her parents wouldn't have liked anyone else…"

"You know, I've never really asked her about the details. I was nine or ten when it happened, so all I remember is her mother sobbing in my mother's arms. Andromeda started writing to me a few times a year after I began Hogwarts. By the time I was old enough to think to ask about her problems, I had my own to deal with."

The first floor consisted of a long, dark corridor with three doors on each side. "All right," said Black, "this is the quick tour. You can do more exploring of the house after we've got the cleaning under control. That far door on the left is the drawing room. Don't go in there unless I go with you, it's infested with doxies. The room next to it used to have a piano, but it's empty now. This bedroom needs to be cleaned." He opened the door and Harry got a quick glimpse of lavender wallpaper and white lace curtains. "I figured we'd give it to Nymphadora for now, but if you want to have it and redecorate it, we can do that over the summer. Over here's the bathroom – we've got to clean this too. The library's here, but we're leaving that alone. The same thing goes for the master bedroom at the end, so that's two rooms on this floor that we need cleaned before we go to bed tonight. Next floor up."

On the second floor, the corridor was wider and the rooms were smaller. "This room's mine," Black said, opening to the first door on the right.

Harry rather liked Black's room; it was painted light blue, with a brass bed and an old mahogany wardrobe. The window overlooked the back garden, a long, thin patch of dead grass with a large tree at each end. Kreacher was pacing between them, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Must be trying to delay having to come inside," Black said, glancing out the window over Harry's shoulder. "We'll let him stay there for another minute or so."

The room to the left of Black's was a small sitting room, papered in green and gold stripes. "We're cleaning this too," said Black, brushing some of the dust off the back of the sofa. "It's a small room, but there are only five of us. Over here – " He stepped into the corridor and opened the door across the way. "I thought we'd give this to Andromeda and Ted – there's another double bed on the third floor, but there's no point in going up there to clean just one room. That's my mother's old office there, then another bathroom, then a bedroom I thought you could take for now. I'm sorry we don't have the time right now for you to go through all the bedrooms and pick out which one you want – "

"No, that's okay," Harry said immediately. He opened the door on the far end and looked inside.

It was a dark but not unfriendly room, the walls covered in oak paneling and the floor covered in burgundy-colored carpet. The twin beds in the middle gave it something of a dormitory feel; with some more light and three more beds, it almost could have been Harry's room at school. "Looks good to me," he said. "So we're cleaning – the entryway, the purple room, the first-story bathroom – the sitting room, Andromeda and Ted's room, the second-story bathroom, this room – "

"And the kitchen downstairs," Black finished. "There ought to be cleaning supplies in that cupboard. Kreacher! I need you here!"

With a popping sound so loud that Harry nearly jumped, Kreacher appeared by the cupboard door. "Master has brought the Potter boy here," he was muttering to himself, tugging on the end of one hairy ear. "Kreacher did not believe he would – and Miss Andromeda will come too, oh my poor mistress, she swore Miss Andromeda would never enter her house again – "

"And she was right, Kreacher," Black said. Kreacher looked up at him, slowly blinking his watery, bloodshot eyes. "Andromeda never did enter her house again. But it's my house now, and we've got to clean eight rooms before we go to bed tonight."

"Master cannot do it," Kreacher replied. "Not unless Master stays up after midnight – and he will make poor Kreacher stay awake with him, poor Kreacher who must serve the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black – "

"The sooner poor Kreacher stops feeling sorry for himself and starts cleaning the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Black said sharply, "the sooner poor Kreacher can be finished and go to sleep in the mildew greenhouse he calls a bedroom. You start with this bathroom, Harry and I will do his room over here."

Kreacher stared in horror. "Master lets the Potter boy sleep in Master Arcturus and Master Lycoris's room," he whispered, aghast. "Master lets the son of a Mudblood sleep – "

"Where did you think he was going to sleep, the broomshed? Get to work."

The sheets and blankets in Harry's room were covered in what must have been at least five years of dust. "These'll have to go in the laundry," Black said, tugging off a pillowcase. "I'll worry about the carpet, you dust the furniture and spray the cobwebs." He handed Harry a bottle of something called Wendolyn Wembly's Web Wremover. "I know some of them are high up, but this ought to get them anyway."

Dudley would have loved the Web Wremover bottle, Harry thought as he sprayed a torrent of blue liquid at the ceiling. Whether by design or by magic, it shot further than any of Dudley's six water pistols. "Who're Arcturus and Lycoris?" he asked Black, watching the layers of cobwebs in the corners dissolve. "Besides your relatives, I mean."

"Arcturus was my father's father," Black replied. "Lycoris was – "

"One of my most disappointing grandchildren," said a smooth, sardonic voice.

Harry spun around. A tall, green-robed wizard with a pointed black beard had just walked into the picture frame on the wall. "Never actually had to disown him," the wizard continued, pulling off one white silk glove, "but I'm afraid the boy never had any of the family intelligence. Thick as a troll's skull. There's one thing I can say for you, Sirius Aurelius – you do appear to have at least _some_ genuine cleverness, even if it's dimmed by misguided idealism and – "

"This is Phineas," Black said to Harry. From the tone of his voice, Harry got the impression that Black was just barely managing to keep his temper. "He's my great-great-grandfather."

Phineas raised his eyebrows, looking, for a split second, a good deal like his great-great grandson. "Oh," Harry said, unsure of how to respond. He had never been introduced to someone's long-dead ancestor before. "Er – hello."

Phineas snorted. "'Oh, er, hello,'" he repeated, rolling his eyes. "Well done, Sirius Aurelius, it appears you've taught him all the social niceties."

"The day you can lecture me about social niceties is the day my mother can lecture me about kindness to Muggle-borns," Black shot back, yanking the top sheet off Harry's bed. "Is there something you want?"

"Why yes, it happens that there is." Phineas sat down in his painted chair. "I have it on good authority from your mother – "

"Don't even start, Phineas."

" – that my umbrella stand downstairs has gone missing. What have you done with it?"

"I had Kreacher throw it out," said Black, reaching for his wand and pointing it at the carpet. A small cloud of dust rose from the floor and disappeared. "This may come as a shock, but most people don't like having severed troll legs in the house."

"My dear boy, I am very sorry to say that _nothing_ 'most people' like or do comes as a shock to me." Phineas looked at his hand for a moment and then pulled off his other glove. "I spent much of my life dealing with the ridiculous and mundane nature of 'most people,' but we are not 'most people.' We are the – "

" – overbred descendents of a raving madman, who happen to have a good deal of money," Black concluded. "Keep spraying, Harry."

Harry had forgot for a moment what he was doing. "Right," he said, and shot a fresh round of Wendolyn Wembly's Web Wremover at the rafters. "Sorry."

"Of course, I also stopped in to see the famous godson," Phineas said. Harry willed himself not to look in the portrait's direction. "He certainly does look like a Potter."

Black levitated another cloud of dust. "Yes he does," he said tersely.

"Not the slightest hint of the McKinnons, though – pity, they were such a handsome family. Perhaps a little of the Gamps around the ears. The eyes, of course, are straight from the Peverells – "

"The eyes are from the Evans side."

"Hmm? Oh, that must be the boy's mother."

Harry's hand clenched into a fist, sending another blast of Web Wremover into the air. There was a dismissive, condescending quality to Phineas's voice that made his blood boil; it was as though someone had magically combined Snape and Aunt Marge into one person, and then put him on a canvas. "She must be the one responsible for that puny, stunted look he's got – "

"Look, I'm thirteen!" Harry said hotly, turning towards Phineas. Phineas looked mildly interested. "How tall do you think I'm supposed to be? I'm not even the shortest one in my year, Malfoy's got to be at least an inch shorter than I am – "

"If Draco Malfoy is shorter than you are," Phineas said, raising his eyebrows again, "it's because his mother was always delicate."

"Yeah? Well, my grandmother was short, so how's that any different from Malfoy's mum being delicate?"

"Because, you – "

"Get out, Phineas," Black said quietly. Despite his voice, there was a raging look in his eyes. "Get out of here and don't come back until two weeks from now when we're gone, do you understand?"

"I do indeed," said Phineas, rising from his seat. "Of course, the third reason why I'm here might interest you, but perhaps not."

"No, perhaps not. Get out."

Phineas sighed and looked at Harry. "It's always emotion with him, isn't it? Never the slightest concern for logic – all right, all _right_," he added, glancing at Black. "I'm supposed to deliver a message, and I even went through all the trouble of memorizing it for you." He pressed his lips together for a moment, apparently very thinking hard. "I believe the message was, 'Moody's in, Portia's sunburned, hope you're happy, signed, Brutus.' Does that sound probable?"

"It does. Out."

"Is Brutus's hope fulfilled?"

"It will be the second you leave."

"Then I suppose I mustn't disappoint him." Phineas turned and walked out of the painting, his head held high. "I do congratulate you on hiring an attorney from Slytherin," Harry heard him saying somewhere past the edge. "Well done, Sirius Aurelius."


	54. Chapter 54

"You know you're arrogant when your family is filled with criminals and madmen and you feel entitled to criticize someone else's," Black said, going to the wall and lifting the portrait off the nail it hung from. "I've had it with everyone acting as though they have the right to judge who we are and how I raise you."

"Who're the McKinnons?" Harry asked. "And the other ones – the Gants or whoever – "

"Your grandmother Lavinia was a McKinnon," Black replied; Harry watched as he set the portrait on the floor. "Her mother was a Gamp, G-A-M-P – I'm not positive how you're related to the Peverells, but I think one of Theseus's grandfathers might have been one. All three families have died out now. I knew Marlene McKinnon, your dad's cousin – she fought in the war with us. You would've liked her."

"How can a whole family die out?"

"Everyone with the family name dies," Black said, picking up his wand again. "You and I are the last of the Potters and the last of the Blacks – the wizarding Potters and wizarding Blacks, that is. There are a lot of Muggles called Black or Potter."

Harry thought about it for a moment. "So – if I don't have any kids, that's the end of my dad's side of the family?"

"That's the end of your dad's side of the family. Personally, I'll be happy going to my grave knowing the mad bad line is over at last."

Perhaps that was why Malfoy had told him not to expect to get a godmother, Harry thought; Black didn't want to have children. "You don't want any kids at all?"

"Not my own flesh and blood," Black replied, levitating a dark cloud of dust. "You're it for me."

"But – " Harry didn't think Black was being quite fair to himself. His ancestors might have been horrible people, but obviously Black had turned out all right. "Aren't you sort of letting the rest of your family win, if you don't have kids so you won't keep the family name going? I think you'd be a good dad."

Black looked over the dust cloud and grinned. "I'm going to remind you of that one of these days when you're angry at me for grounding you."

"_Sirius_ – "

"Octavius the Black fathered his first child at the age of seventy," said Black, watching the dust vanish. "So I've got roughly thirty-six years to change my mind. Don't worry about it, Harry. What do you want for dinner?"

"I dunno – he was _seventy_?"

"And his wife was twenty-four, if you can wrap your mind around that one. I know I can't."

Harry sprayed a cobweb roughly the size of his head; it might be a while before the house was spider-free enough for Ron to visit, he thought. "What happened to Octavius the Black, anyway?" he asked. "Did he stay with Slytherin?"

"For the most part," Black said. He took a rag from his pocket and wiped the dust off the doorknob. "One night when he was fifty-eight years old, Octavius had too much to drink, walked out an upper-story window, and nearly impaled himself on a spiked tower. After that he started to worry about the state of his soul – what if he _had_ died, what would have happened to him then? Well, Salazar Slytherin didn't like Octavius occupying himself with philosophy and religion instead of how to form a pureblood society. He told Octavius he had to choose – Slytherin or the study of the soul – and Octavius said he'd take the soul, because if there was an afterlife, he didn't reckon Slytherin could do much to him there. So Slytherin booted him out.

"The trouble was, Octavius had spent so many years with Slytherin that he hardly had anything of his own. No house, no land, nothing but a few robes and a wand. No one particularly liked him, either, seeing as he'd spent the last few decades advocating the expulsion of Muggle-borns, halfbloods and Squibs from wizarding society. The only one willing to help him was a wizard called Friar John Overhill who lived – "

"Over the hill," said Harry.

"No, on the edge of the valley. Friar John figured it was his Christian duty to help Octavius, and told him he could work as his assistant as long as he didn't lie, cheat, steal, kill, commit adultery, or take the name of the Lord in vain. By that point, Octavius would have done just about anything for a loaf of bread and a roof over his head at night, so he agreed.

"Friar John wanted the wizards and witches of England to be able to attend church like the Muggles, without worrying about accidentally doing magic and being burned at the stake. Not that being burned actually killed them – "

"I know," said Harry. "I did a paper about witch-burnings last summer."

Black shoved the bed over a few inches to clean the carpet underneath. "The way Friar John saw it, doing magic wasn't a sin because God had given him the ability to do magic. He couldn't turn stones into stoats or peas into pearls because he'd asked the devil to give him the power to do so – he was born with the capacity to learn magic, and if God had created him, then God must have made him that way for a reason. He and Octavius travelled around England, Friar John preaching to the wizards and Octavius taking care of their horses and finding places for them to stay. They tracked down priests with magical powers and convinced them that they didn't have to choose between God and magic. Once they were convinced, the priests would form secret churches for wizards; I belong to one of them, actually. It's called St. Dymphna's and it's under Canterbury Cathedral."

Harry stared at him. "There's a whole separate church under _Canterbury Cathedral_?"

"Oh, yes," Black replied, as though this were the most normal thing in the world. "It's a pity it's protected by charms to block outside noise, otherwise someone might have heard the commotion and been able to save Becket – anyway, getting back to Octavius and Friar John, after several years Hogwarts asked Friar John to be the school chaplain."

"I never knew Hogwarts used to have a chaplain," said Harry.

For some reason that Harry didn't understand, Black winked at him. "Friar John agreed to take the position," he continued, "if the faculty and staff would accept that Octavius was a changed man, and would allow him to return to Hogwarts and act as Friar John's secretary. Well, that caused a lot of controversy. Gryffindor said he wasn't about to be threatened with death by his own sword again, thank you very much. Hufflepuff thought it was only fair to give Octavius another chance, as long as Friar John vouched for him. Some of the Muggle-born students said they'd leave if Slytherin's old ally came back to the school. What if he was still working for Slytherin? What if he planned to kill them all in their sleep?

"Finally, Ravenclaw pointed out that everyone was being ridiculous –why did they have to wonder about Octavius's motives, if they could put the Sorting Hat on his head and the Hat could see the truth inside his mind? She and the other remaining founders rode out to England – flying a broom was a risk in those days – and gave Octavius the chance to prove he had really changed. He put the Hat on and the Hat told them Octavius wasn't about to harm anyone. He really did want to help Friar John, as he'd said."

"So he got to go back to Hogwarts – when did he get married?"

"Hang on," said Black. "I'll get there. By this point, Octavius was around sixty-seven or sixty-eight. Friar John was older than that, probably close to ninety. That's not as old for a wizard as it is for a Muggle, but it's considered elderly, at any rate."

"How old do wizards get?"

"The oldest living wizard I know is one hundred and seventy-two years old – don't let your mouth hang open like that, there's too much dust in the air. Friar John had got rather plump from the Hogwarts feasts, and his heart wasn't strong. One night about a year after they came to Hogwarts, he had a heart attack in his study and died.

"Well, Octavius was grief-stricken, as you can imagine. His family had died years before and Friar John had been his only friend. Still, he wasn't as sad as he might have been, because he figured a good man like Friar John had gone to heaven and was smiling down on all of them. Maybe Friar John would spent about a week or so in Purgatory – he wasn't perfect, after all – "

"What's Purgatory?"

"It's where souls go to atone for some minor sins before they're allowed into heaven. Either way, Octavius thought Friar John wasn't far from his well-deserved heavenly reward. Then he found out he was wrong."

"Friar John was in _hell_?"

"No, he wasn't in hell. He was smiling down on them, just like Octavius had thought he was. Only he wasn't doing it from heaven or Purgatory – he was doing it from several feet above Octavius's head. Then he asked Octavius to make sure his fingernails were clean before he was buried, and floated down to the Great Hall to finish a conversation he'd started with Hufflepuff the day before his death."

"Wait a minute," Harry said. "Friar John's – "

"Yes, you've met him," said Black. "They call him the Fat Friar. Unfortunate, isn't it? The Hogwarts ghosts all led fascinating lives, and people only think to describe them by what they look like – fat, bloody, gray, nearly headless."

"Moaning," said Harry, thinking of Myrtle, the ghost who had helped him find the Chamber of Secrets.

"Moaning," Black agreed. "Finding out Friar John was a ghost was the beginning of the end for Octavius. According to church doctrine, good Christians were supposed to go to heaven or Purgatory when they died, not float around a castle. Friar John tried to tell him that it must be what God wanted – after all, Friar John hadn't had very long to act as chaplain – but to Octavius, God had personally betrayed him. He'd kept up his end by repenting and converting, but God hadn't kept up his. So Octavius packed his things, went down to Hogsmeade, drank countless mugs of ale at the Three Broomsticks, eloped to Bath with the owner's daughter, and returned to his old ways. He was afraid of being sent to hell if he gave up Christianity altogether, but after seeing Friar John's ghost, he didn't have any qualms about bending a few church rules for his own purposes. The Blacks have been rotten Christians from almost the very beginning."

"You're doing okay," Harry said; for the second time that day, he thought Black was letting his dead relatives have too much say in what the family name meant. "You're my godfather and everything."

"I wasn't doing okay after your parents and Peter died and Remus went to Azkaban," Black replied. "No drinking or tavern maidens, I'm glad to say, but I spent a lot of time cursing God and wishing I were dead."

"Yeah, but you didn't _really_ wish you were dead, did you?" Harry asked. Black looked at him. "If you'd really wanted to be dead, you would've, you know, done yourself in – but you didn't, so you must've reckoned that being alive was at least a bit better than being dead. And I bet God understood the cursing thing," he added. "I bet people do it all the time when other people die."

The carpet was finished; Black shoved the bed back into place. "I'm going to be perfectly honest with you," he said. "There were a few times in my life when the thought of you was the only thing standing between me and the grave. All right, enough of this, it's getting morbid. If you still haven't decided what you want for dinner, I think I'm going to send Kreacher to Diagon Alley for fish and chips. It's a Friday during Lent."


	55. Chapter 55

By midnight, the eight rooms were clean enough to live in, if not clean enough to win any prizes for housekeeping. "How many people used to live here, anyway?" Harry asked as he and Black made their way upstairs. After hours of spraying, dusting, mopping, washing and scrubbing, his body ached as though he'd just had four Quidditch practices in a row.

"I don't think it was ever more than eight or nine," Black said, stopping for a second on the landing to look out the window. It was starting to rain. "Back in the day, the richest wizards used to have entire families of house-elves working for them. Our family's old elf quarters are in the basement off the kitchen."

"You're joking," Harry said. He, Black and Kreacher had spent three hours in the kitchen, trying not to be sick as they scrubbed at the mildew and mold. "I never saw a door or anything."

"It's hidden," Black replied, turning onto the second floor. "House-elves are supposed to be inconspicuous unless their families need them. The door's in that tall chest across from the stove – it's the cupboard on the bottom right.

Harry remembered the cupboard door, which he had wiped clean of something that looked like dried tomato sauce; it was about three and a half feet high and three feet wide. "So humans can't go into the elf quarters?"

"Not unless they're small or skinny. I used to hide from my mother in there when I was about six years old."

Harry wasn't exactly fond of the dozens of snake decorations all over the house, but he had to admit that they looked good in the second-story bathroom, where all the spigots were in the shape of water serpents. "Show Nymphadora around the house tomorrow, will you?" Black asked, reaching for his toothbrush. "She's never been here before and she wants to see everything – she's heard Andromeda and me talk about it for years."

"Okay," Harry said, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub.

"The only place I don't want the two of you going is the half-floor at the top of the house. There's just my old bedroom and Regulus's old bedroom up there, and they haven't been touched since we left home."

"When did Regulus leave home, anyway?" asked Harry. "It couldn't have been that long before he disappeared, not if he's your younger brother – d'you think there's something in there that might have to do with where he is?"

It took Black a while to answer. "Not unless it's a sign saying who did it," he replied after he'd rinsed the toothpaste from his mouth. "Regulus moved out of the house around seven months before he went missing. If there's anything there connected to the Malfoys, it could be there for completely innocent reasons."

"But what if it's not the Malfoys?" Harry persisted. Considering all the time and attention the Aurors were giving to searching the Malfoys' house, he could hardly believe they hadn't been in Regulus's old bedroom. "What if there's, say, a piece of paper with someone's name on it, and you don't know who that person is? What if they're still alive and you can ask them about Regulus? Or what if – your mum's the last person who saw him, right?"

"Officially," Black said. "After that photograph at the Malfoys, I have my doubts."

"Okay," said Harry, "but either way, Regulus came here right before he went missing. Maybe he didn't go up to his old room, but there's nothing to prove he _didn't_, is there? If I was Regulus and I wanted to hide something, I'd hide it in this house. It's huge, it's got all sorts of hiding places – I can't see your mum just letting the Death Eaters in to search the place, either. We've _got_ to look tomorrow, Sirius."

Black looked as though he were thinking it over. "It's not a bad idea," he said at last. "I'll be honest, I haven't been thinking much about how to find Regulus. If I had, hopefully I would have thought of this by now – it might be worth it to shine a light in the elf quarters, too. Regulus was Kreacher's favorite member of the family after my mother."

Back in his new bedroom, Harry put on his pajamas, scrawled a quick note to Dobby, and got into bed. "You'd better not be here, Phineas," he told the portrait on the floor. There was no answer.

Outside, the rain was falling faster and harder; Hedwig was in her open cage on top of the wardrobe, hooting softly. _This is my first night in my own room_, Harry thought to himself. _This is the first night Sirius and I are in our own house…_

It was still raining the next morning – Harry was eager to race upstairs and start going through Regulus's things, but Black talked him out of it. "Give the Tonkses a few hours to settle in and have something to eat," he said, picking at a knot in his hair. To Harry's surprise, he was wearing a long-sleeved blue t-shirt and a pair of jeans that looked at least ten years old. "After that I'm sure Nymphadora will love to help us. Let me warn you, though – Andromeda doesn't have much difficulty believing Lucius Malfoy might have killed Regulus, but she insists Narcissa couldn't have had anything to do with it. In some part of Andromeda's mind, Narcissa's still her innocent baby sister."

"Even after Narcissa _disowned_ her?" Harry asked incredulously. "Even after Narcissa married a Death Eater who lied to keep himself out of Azkaban and – "

The knot was coming loose. "Don't ask me to explain it," Black said. "Oh, one more thing, Harry. Unless he comes up in conversation, do me a favor and don't mention Remus."

The doorbell rang; suddenly, a horrific scream came from the entryway. "There goes my mother," Black said, and quickly started down the stairs, Harry following him. "You open the door, I'll deal with the portrait – "

Somehow, the velvet draperies were open, and a lifelike portrait of the most hideous woman Harry had ever seen was screeching as her eyes rolled back in her head. "FILTH!" she screamed, so loudly that Harry had to cover his ears. Black grabbed the curtains and tried to pull them back together, but for some reason, they wouldn't move. "Open the door, Harry!" he shouted over his mother. "She'll shut up in another few seconds – "

Swallowing, Harry reached for the handle and opened the door.

The first thought that came into his head was that the Tonkses reminded him of an Easter basket; while Andromeda had long brown hair past her shoulders, Ted was blond and Nymphadora's hair was bright pink. "Oh, _wow_, is that the painting of Sirius's mother?" she asked, sticking her head through the door. "I thought you were exaggerating, Mum…"

Black finally managed to yank the draperies shut; the screaming stopped at once. "Sorry about that," he said, grinning at the Tonkses. "Come in."

Nymphadora ran inside and threw her arms around Black; he staggered backwards, but he was smiling. "Hi, kid," he said, and kissed the top of her head. "How's my favorite cousin once removed?"

"Oh, yeah, like there's some big competition to be your favorite," Nymphadora said, letting go of him. Parvati and Lavender probably would have liked her outfit, Harry thought; she was wearing a tight black t-shirt and bright turquoise jeans. "Nymphadora versus Draco – the epic battle…"

"My God, she's gone back to 'Nymphadora,'" Black said, looking at Andromeda and Ted. "What happened to Nym? What happened to Ympha? What happened to Phado, that was my favorite one…"

"I'm reclaiming the name Nymphadora," Nymphadora said. "You know, like how gay people didn't like being called queer, and then some of them decided they were going to reclaim it – " Ted cleared his throat. "Well, they _did_, Dad." Nymphadora looked at Harry, rolled her eyes, and grinned. "Hey, Sirius, how am I related to Harry? Can he be my godcousin?"

"I don't know – Harry, do you want a godcousin?"

"Maybe," Harry said. "Does that mean Malfoy has to be my godcousin too?"

He had never seen Black like this before, joking and playful; for the first time, he realized what the younger Black must have been like when he was happy. "He might have to _technically_ be your godcousin," said Nymphadora, "but don't worry, you can disown him."

"I think I'll keep him, actually," Harry replied. "Finding out he's related to me will probably kill him."

As the words left his mouth, he realized how insensitive they might sound – another member of the family probably _had_ been killed – but to his relief, no one seemed to take offense. "Heard it's down to Gryffindor and Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup," Ted said, setting down his suitcase. He was a distinctly odd-looking man, with muscular arms, skinny legs, and a belly that could have belonged to Father Christmas. His hair had the look of a dye experiment gone wrong, but Harry suspected the color was real – unlike Draco and Lucius Malfoy, who were so blond their hair was nearly white, or Brutus Swift, whose strawberry blond hair made his head look pink, Ted's hair was only a few shades lighter than a daffodil. "Dora and I think 'Dromeda's secretly rooting for the Slytherins, but we love her anyway – "

"I am _not_," Andromeda said, sounding flustered.

"I _know_ you're not," Ted replied, putting one arm around her shoulder. "I'm just teasing you, sweetheart."

"I know you are, but it bothers me that you'd even think of that in the first place – "

Even without Black's sense of humor, it was obvious that Andromeda was his cousin. If Harry hadn't known better, he might have guessed they were brother and sister. While both her hair and her eyes were brown, Andromeda had Black's pale skin, his tall and lean build, his strong and even features – she even had the same way of distinctly pronouncing every word. "Maybe you and Brutus could secede from Slytherin," Black said. "Like the American South seceding from the rest of the country."

"They had legal _slavery_ in the American South, Sirius."

"I'll give you Kreacher if you want him. Has everyone got their luggage? All the bedrooms are upstairs…"

Nymphadora seemed fascinated by the house; more than once, her mother stopped and waited for her to finish staring at something. "It's almost like something from a horror film," Nymphadora said, looking up at the chandelier. "Like there ought to be vampires living upstairs…"

Black didn't reply, but Harry wondered if they were thinking the same thing: if Swift's theory was right, one day there might be a werewolf living upstairs. "What's my bedroom look like?" Nymphadora asked, hurrying to catch up to Black. "Please say it's got a secret passage or something – "

"Sorry," Black said, stepping onto the first floor and opening the door to the lavender bedroom. "This is it."

Harry wondered which member of the Black family had been responsible for decorating the lavender bedroom; it was jarringly different from the rest of the house, with its downy quilt and white lace curtains. Aunt Petunia might have even liked it. Nymphadora didn't seem particularly disappointed. "Wow," she said, dropping her suitcase on the bed, "it's like sleeping in a lilac bush. Hey, where's Kreacher?"

Earlier that morning, Kreacher had dragged several loaves of bread, an extra blanket, and a book called _To Purity of Blood_ into the elf quarters, declaring he was going to stay there until the Tonkses were gone. "I might make him come out after a few days," Black said, leaning against the door frame. "He'll have to come out for Easter, at any rate – the first-story bathroom's that door there. Andromeda and Ted, you're on the second floor with Harry and me."

Andromeda and Ted's room had dark blue wallpaper and a sturdy wooden bed. "Please tell me at least _one_ bedroom in this house has candelabras or canopies," Nymphadora said as her parents began to unpack. "Or bookcases that are really doors, or a balcony or _something_ – "

"I'm not sure," Harry said. "Want to see what's on the third floor?"


	56. Chapter 56

_**27 December, 1975**_

_Mum told Sirius that if he hates our family so much, he ought to move out and stop taking Father's money. Finally, someone calls him on being such a self-righteous hypocrite. He told her it would be child abandonment if she booted him out of the house and she said at least now he's admitting he's a child. Why doesn't he just leave? If Potter won't take him in, he can go with Lupin or whatever his name is, or maybe that pathetic fat boy who's always hanging around them._

_After a while I couldn't stand listening to them fight anymore, so I went to help Narcissa move into Lucius's house – technically still Abraxas's house, but he's got dragon pox again and they're just hoping he won't die until after the wedding. Narcissa says Bellatrix told her it's indecent to move her things into Lucius's house before they're married, so now Narcissa's not speaking to her. I'm on Narcissa's side (of course) – she's moving in her __things__, not her__self__. Bellatrix isn't speaking to their mother because she said Bellatrix ought to see a specialist and find out how many years she has left to have a baby. I don't understand why everyone acts as though she's so old. Mum didn't have Sirius until she was thirty-nine and Bella isn't even thirty._

_**28 December, 1975**_

_Bellatrix apologized to Narcissa – she found out their grandmother moved her things into their grandfather's house before the wedding, so now it's all right, or something like that. Narcissa's still angry with her. She told me that if she could have a person of honor and not a maid of honor, she'd get rid of Bella and put me in the wedding, but I think she was just being emotional._

_Lucius is never home whenever I stop by, and he doesn't even have a job. It's always just Cissa and Abraxas and that weird little elf. I was worried that when Narcissa got married I'd barely see her, but now it looks as though not much will change._

_**29 December, 1975**_

_Sirius heard Father and Mum talking about the wedding and how they wish Bellatrix was married by now__, and he ended up telling them that he never wants to get married. I never want him to get married either. The last thing I need are a bunch of little Sirius spawn running around telling me I'm an elitist supremacist, or whatever his phrase is this week. If he didn't look so much like Father I wouldn't believe he was my actual brother._

_Surprise, Lucius was home today – for all of five minutes. He's getting married in a few days, his father is dying, and he spends his time doing God-knows-what. I even asked Cissa if she knows where he is when he's gone, and she says she doesn't always know but she doesn't mind. __Why__ doesn't she mind? How does she know he's not out gambling away their money or fathering mudbloods?_

_**30 December, 1975**_

_Didn't see Narcissa today because she was at the wedding rehearsal. What do they need to rehearse?_

_It snowed all morning._

_**January 3, 1976**_

_I stayed up too late after the wedding and I haven't had the energy to write about it until now, but at any rate, Abraxas is still alive and Narcissa started crying because she was so happy. Lucius was happy too, of course, but I don't particularly care. I have to start being nicer about Lucius. He's part of the family unless Narcissa says otherwise, and going by how long they kissed during the wedding, I don't think she's going to say otherwise._

_It was an enormous wedding – I think they must have invited everyone they're on speaking terms with. If it had been Bellatrix's wedding, Aunt Druella wouldn't have been invited, because Bella's still not speaking to Aunt Druella. Mum spent about half the reception trying to introduce Bella to every unattached man in the room, but I don't think any of it took – any man who'd want to marry Bellatrix would have to be either the most powerful man in the world or an absolute coward._

_When I say that Lucius and Cissa – Cius and Cissa? ha ha ha – must have invited everyone they're on speaking terms with, I'm not exaggerating. They even invited Eileen Prince, who used to tutor all three girls until she married a Muggle and Uncle Cygnus sacked her. Her son Severus (Snape) is a fellow Slytherin but in Sirius's year – unfortunately, Severus wasn't at the wedding, which would have been entertaining because he and Sirius absolutely hate each other. I think Sirius hates Snape even more than he hates me, if you can imagine that. I couldn't believe Cissa actually invited Eileen Prince, but apparently she's divorced now and getting another chance because her father did something important with foreign imports._

_Narcissa looked even more beautiful than usual. I don't think there's ever been a more beautiful bride in the history of the world – I told her that and she said she's sure my wife will be a more beautiful bride, which she __won't__ be. I hate it when people don't take you seriously just because you're fourteen. I never thought I'd say I hated anything about Cissa, but I hate that._

_Maybe she really meant it when she said she'd make me "person of honor" if she could. I should have taken her seriously, because now that I think about it I don't think I've ever heard Cissa say something she didn't mean._

_**January 29, 1976**_

_Back at school, which means less Sirius but also less Narcissa. She and Lucius had to come back from their honeymoon early because Abraxas died. They knew he was going to, of course, but Mum says Cissa spent the whole funeral crying anyway. She really liked Abraxas – they spent a lot of time together when she was moving into the house._

_Sirius's friend Potter got twenty points for Gryffindor for being the only one who could work out some ridiculous Arithmancy problem, so now Gryffindor's ahead of us for the House Cup. Evan Rosier's threatening to kill anyone who loses so much as a point. He keeps trying to match me up with his sister Charis because Charis is obsessed with some boy in Ravenclaw and Evan doesn't approve. As you might suspect, it's not working. It would be funny if it did, though, because then I'd be both Narcissa's first cousin and her first-cousin-in-law – Evan and Charis's father is Aunt Druella's brother._

_Still have a perfect one hundred percent in Potions, which I know for a fact is better than Sirius has ever done._

_**March 13, 1976**_

_Either Severus Snape is completely mad, or Pettigrew (the p.f.b. who thinks Sirius is a god) has been getting up to no good, probably with help because he's not clever enough to do it on his own. Snape claims he was outside last week after curfew – doing what, he didn't say – and he saw Pettigrew change into a rat. Yes, a rat. Maybe his parents' divorce has unhinged him, not that he needed much unhinging._

_Still__ have a perfect one hundred percent in Potions._

_**April 16, 1976**_

_Today was Sirius's sixteenth birthday, which I only mention because he skived off class with his friends, and McGonagall – __McGonagall__ – took fifty points from Gryffindor. It was a good day._

_We had Easter at Narcissa and Lucius's house – she threw Bella and Sirius out of the kitchen when we were coloring eggs because she said we needed to catch up. (Lucius did not want to color eggs. It might have stained his manicured fingernails.) Narcissa says Aunt Druella is driving her mad because she keeps asking when Cissa and Lucius are going to have a baby. Why is everyone so fascinated with other people having babies? I told Narcissa that she should tell Aunt Druella they can't have a baby until they figure out how to make one, which Cissa thought was funny. Later I wished I hadn't said it, though. Sometimes there are things you don't want to think about._

_Narcissa wanted to know if I liked any girls, so I asked her if she knew anyone who might go on a date with Charis. I don't really want to go out with any of the girls I know – the ones I get along with aren't particularly good-looking and all the good-looking ones think I'm too short and not as handsome as Sirius. Actually, that's not completely true. Selene Harris always smiles at me and she looks like that one singer, but her grandmother was a Muggle so that's the end of that._

_**May 4, 1976**_

_Turned fifteen yesterday – have a new racing broom from Father and Mum, which got delivered to the breakfast table. Evan Rosier thinks I ought to go out for Seeker next year after Parkinson's left. Maybe I'll do it._

_I remembered the other day that Narcissa and Lucius have been together since they were fifteen, which is depressing considering I've never even kissed a girl. Narcissa's turning twenty-one tomorrow. She always says I was her early birthday present._

_**May 8, 1976**_

_Today Narcissa "kidnapped" me from school – it's Saturday – and took me to lunch in __France__ to celebrate our birthdays. I'm not joking. I ordered some kind of goose liver that I didn't finish, so after lunch we had ice cream._

_Cissa's never really had friends – it's hard to make any when they all have to be purebloods and the pureblood girls are jealous of you. She didn't mind when she was younger, she told me once, because she had Bellatrix and Andromeda and didn't really want anyone else, but of course now Andromeda's basically dead to us and Bellatrix only cares about one thing. At least Narcissa has Lucius. She likes him, even if I don't, so I suppose I can like him for that at least._

_**July 1, 1976**_

_The end of the school year was absolute madness. We won the Quidditch Cup, but somehow Ravenclaw got two points more than Slytherin and five points more than Gryffindor, so they've won the House Cup for the first time in eighteen years. Snape hates Sirius even more than usual, which neither one will talk about, and Charis Rosier eloped with the Ravenclaw even though they both still have two years of school left. I kept the one hundred percent in Potions – Slughorn says he's going to write some type of massive guide to potions and maybe I can be his research assistant after I finish school. Mum and Father both think he was joking, but Narcissa knows him better than they do and she thinks he meant it._

_I don't know what's changed with Lucius, but all of a sudden he's home all the time, which means Narcissa wants to be home all the time and both of them would rather I was home all the time – my home, not theirs. I understand, they're married, they've finally got a lot of time to be alone together, but would it be too much to ask to see Cissa once a week?_

_**July 19, 1976**_

_Finally saw Cissa. Charis Rosier is having a baby in February, which explains why she got married near the end of June, and so of course another baby discussion was started by, guess who, Aunt Druella. Narcissa says it was even worse than it would have been otherwise because she heard last week that Andromeda had a baby a few years ago – Nymphatlantis, or something like that. Cissa actually started crying. She says she'd be so happy right now if Aunt Druella would just leave her alone._

_I always figured Cissa didn't tell me everything, if only because you can't tell your teenage cousin everything if you're an adult, but she __really__ didn't tell me everything. It turns out she was pregnant two years ago and had a miscarriage. That's why she and Lucius took so long to get married – for a while she didn't even want to think about having a baby in case something went wrong again. Now she wants to have a baby and it hasn't happened yet. I told her she shouldn't worry about it – look at my parents, they didn't have any children for a decade and a half and then my mum gave birth to two in just over a year. Cissa actually hugged me, which she only does if she's really happy or really upset._

_Right now I hate Aunt Druella._

_**August 15, 1976**_

_I really don't know how I got up the nerve to do this, but I actually went to see Uncle Cygnus at his office and asked him if he could get Aunt Druella to stop asking Narcissa about babies all the time. I didn't tell him anything about the miscarriage (Cissa would have killed me) but I did say that Narcissa had told me she wanted a baby, and wasn't it a little unrealistic to expect her to be pregnant after she'd been married for less than a year?_

_He actually listened to me. He actually treated me like an adult, and didn't tell me that what Aunt Druella said to Narcissa wasn't any of my business or that I was too young to know what I was talking about. It probably helps that Narcissa is his favorite daughter, but still. Finally someone's realized that I'm not eleven years old anymore._

_Sirius, I found out yesterday, knew about Nymphatlantis back before she was even born. He has about seven or eight different pictures – it turns out, if you can believe this, that Andromeda's daughter is a Metamorphmagus. She's a tiny little mudblood girl who can change her appearance at will. Not to sound like an idiot, but the thought of that much power in a mudblood is frightening. She's just little now, of course, but even acromantulas were small once._

_**August 24, 1976**_

_I love my parents. I thank God for them every day and I would never say a single word against them. However, my parents, Uncle Cygnus, and Aunt Druella are all completely mad._

_The good news is that Aunt Druella hasn't mentioned babies since I talked with Uncle Cygnus – the bad news is that somehow, all four of them have decided that Bellatrix should marry Sirius soon after he turns seventeen. (Apparently they don't want to go the Rosier route and give him permission early.) This has got to be the most wrongheaded, misguided idea I've ever heard from any of them. Remember when I said that Bella's husband would have to be either the most powerful man in the world or an absolute coward? Sirius is a long way from either and absolutely hates Bellatrix besides._

_From what I can gather, the theory is that Bella needs to get married before she gets much older and Sirius needs someone to keep him in line. It's mad enough to believe there __is__ someone who could keep Sirius in line, much less that Bellatrix could ever do it. Neither one would make it out alive. For the first time in our entire lives, Sirius, Bellatrix and I all agree on something. I even listened to Sirius rant for about twenty minutes on how he refuses to so much as hold Bella's hand, and I can't remember the last time I willingly listened to Sirius._

_**August 29, 1976**_

_Sirius got into a row with all four madmen at Narcissa and Lucius's house. I don't think even Kreacher blames him. There is not a single rational person on the face of the earth who __could__ blame him – they are mad and that's all there is to it._

_**September 9, 1976**_

_Back at school, where I've had to listen to every professor tell us it's O.W.L.s year and we need to take them seriously, as if we didn't know. Everyone has changed over the summer except me._

_Evan Rosier grew three inches, Charis Rosier-Bones is sick in the toilet every hour, Selene Harris got even more gorgeous (what a waste), Slughorn had a heart attack and is supposed to lose at least three stone, Potter's actually got some muscles in his arms, Lupin looks only ill and not deathly ill, Pettigrew got even fatter, and Severus Snape claims he's a Death Eater now (in his dreams). He's having a feud with both his parents because he wants to change his surname to Prince and neither will let him. What happened to me all summer? I watched things happen to other people._

_**September 13, 1976**_

_Well, enough of __that__. I've made Seeker and we're playing Hufflepuff in another few weeks. Suddenly all the good-looking girls find me interesting, or at least the ones my year and younger do. It's like a very strange dream. How does Sirius deal with this all the time?_

_Speaking of Sirius, Slughorn and McGonagall got together and decided he isn't allowed to do the commentary for any of the matches I'm playing. He's trying to make them change their minds because it cuts him down from six matches to three, but I don't think they're going to change their minds. He's done commentary on every single match for the last three years and someone else can have a chance for a change._

_I don't know why I really care if Sirius has to marry Bellatrix, seeing as I don't like Sirius and I'm not enormously fond of Bella either, but there's just something wrong about it. I understand why Father and Mum want us to get married and have children – if our ancestors hadn't done it, we wouldn't be here, and if they hadn't married other purebloods we'd have a lot of unclean ancestry mixed in and be diluted from our natural state. But seeing as Bella isn't even anywhere near old, why can't they leave her alone and let her find someone herself? Do they really think Sirius will happily father children with his first cousin if only they can get him past the altar? What are they going to do with me if I don't fall in love by a certain age?_

_Cissa says I shouldn't worry about it, because men can reproduce for a longer period of their lives than women can and no one will care if I'm still a bachelor at fifty. She's being too optimistic. There are exactly two young male Blacks to continue the family line, and one of them is me._

_**October 21, 1976**_

_Defeated Hufflepuff easily – not a surprise, but still a relief. I asked Demetria Crabbe to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend, so we'll see how that goes._

_**October 31, 1976**_

_If Sirius were a saint – I know, in what universe – this would be his feast day. An entire day in which you can play idiotic pranks on everyone and they can't get as angry as usual because it's Halloween. So far he's turned Snape's hair bright purple, sent a whole herd of puffskeins to eat Rosier's bogies, and hung my underwear on a clothesline stretched across the Great Hall. Helpfully, he included a sign which read "Regulus's Pants." Bellatrix can have him._

_Hogsmeade with Demetria went all right, although by now she probably thinks I'm the sort of moronic weakling who gets his pants displayed in the Great Hall on Halloween._

_**November 5, 1976**_

_Demetria says she liked seeing my pants, and sort of twitched her eyebrows. I mentioned it to Narcissa and she says Demetria is too fast for me._

_**November 22, 1976**_

_Over the summer, a friend of Father's called Rodolphus Lestrange came back to Britain after teaching Ancient Runes at Durmstrang for four years. He's nearly forty, a widower twice over, and has no children. Bellatrix is marrying him just before Christmas._

_Narcissa's happy enough to see Bella get married, but she sent me a letter with at least four pages on how Bella's getting married in December so she can take away attention from Narcissa and Lucius's anniversary every year. I wouldn't have noticed that on my own, but I think Cissa's right._

_**December 1, 1976**_

_In a miraculous turn of events, Sirius found me at dinner and apologized for stringing my underwear across the Great Hall. He says Potter's in love with a girl called Evans who won't go out with him because she thinks he's a git, so now Potter wants Sirius to apologize to me so Potter will look more un-gittish by association. I think that was how it went. Still, motives aside, it was an apology and I haven't heard one of those from Sirius in years. __Victory__._

_**December 19, 1976**_

_Narcissa is Bellatrix's matron of honor – I thought matrons were stout middle-aged women wearing too much rouge, but it seems they're just married women, regardless of age, stoutness, or cosmetics. I went with Cissa today to buy the dress, and for the first time – all right, I know how this sounds, but it's not like that. For the first time I was aware of what her body is like – not just how pretty her face is or how she looks in a dress. _

_I don't mean I was __seeing__ any more of her body, because I wasn't. She put on the dress inside a fitting room and then came out so some of the witches who worked in the shop could adjust it. That was when I really noticed, because they had to take in the bust (that's how they said it) and do something with the waist and let the hem down. Narcissa should have been a model – not the sort that wears tacky robes and walks down runways, an artist's model. I would love to marry a woman with a figure like that. I can say that, can't I? I'm not going to act ridiculous and pretend I didn't notice anything just because Cissa's my married cousin. Her own mother probably acknowledges that Cissa has a gorgeous body. It's only the truth._

_**December 23, 1976**_

_Wonders will never cease. Severus Snape, still not Prince, is in fact a Death Eater. He and I were both ushers at the wedding and I saw the mark when he reached for a coat hanger. I spent almost the entire ceremony trying to tell who was a Death Eater and who wasn't – the marks all burn at the same time, and going by how dark Snape's was, they weren't going to entirely fade anytime soon. Children and anyone with short sleeves were clear. Adults with long sleeves were all in the running._

_I already knew Bella was a Death Eater, and, predictably, the sleeves on her dress went all the way to her wrists. Rodolphus is a Death Eater – every once in a while he'd glance at his arm, just the one arm, not the other. My parents are not Death Eaters. My mother wore a burgundy-colored dress with sleeves just past the shoulders, and I've seen my father in his loose-sleeved dressing gown enough times to know that there's nothing on his skin but graying hair._

_Rabastan, Rodolphus's brother, actually left for a moment and came back with his arm hanging stiffly. After the ceremony, Lucius took off his jacket to adjust his hair (of course) and I could see the mark showing through his white shirt sleeve. Narcissa, thank God, is not a Death Eater. Her sleeves didn't reach her elbows and her arms were as white as the fresh snow outside. I don't mind if Lucius is a Death Eater – I don't even care if Narcissa is in the Dark Lord's service, because I know how passionate she is about family – but __no one__ is going to burn __anything__ on Cissa as long as I'm around. I don't care if they're Grindelwald or Voldemort or God Himself._

_Rodolphus's single female relatives somehow ended up foisted on Lucius, so Narcissa and I danced with each other for about half of the reception. She had to lead me through it because I don't know anything about dancing. It all looks so easy when she does it. Every time Lucius danced past us with one of the relatives, she'd start giggling because she says she knows Lucius secretly loves to dance. It was so wonderful to hear her laugh._

_Rodolphus's mother must have conspired with Mum, because she introduced Sirius to Rabastan's daughter – Natasha, I think it was. She's in Sirius's year but at Durmstrang, and she was wearing this bright red dress slit up to her thigh. I made the mistake of jokingly asking Cissa if Natasha was too fast for Sirius, and she said she has the impression no one's too fast for Sirius. I have __got__ to start restraining myself before I ask these things._

_Probably the twenty-fourth already, so I'm going to sleep._

_**December 24, 1976**_

_I found out this morning that Father saw Natasha snogging Absalom Goyle behind the coats, so it looks as though now the question is whether Natasha is too fast for Goyle. Thank God. I never even spoke to Natasha, but I had the impression that she wasn't exactly who I'd pick to be the mother of my nieces and nephews._

_Kreacher must have been working the entire time we were at the wedding, because the tree looks fantastic. The whole house looks fantastic and smells delicious._

_Sirius actually offered to take Father on a walk this afternoon – yes, my brother, Sirius Aurelius Black, volunteered to spend at least two hours pushing his crippled father in a wheelchair. After they got back I couldn't quite figure out what they'd said to each other, but I got the impression it was a very solemn conversation. At least they didn't come back early. It would be nice to have some peace in this house._

_**December 25, 1976**_

_I'll say this much for Lucius – you can tell that being with Narcissa makes him genuinely happy. We went to Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella's for Christmas dinner and he chased Narcissa around the house with a sprig of mistletoe both before and after we ate. Cissa's planning a first-anniversary supper and has the perfect excuse not to invite Bellatrix – there's no point in inviting her when everyone knows she's on her honeymoon until after New Year's and won't want to be disturbed. I think Aunt Druella might have been hoping for an "announcement" from Cissa and Lucius, but it seems there is nothing to announce._

_All and all, I got two jumpers, three books, and one framed photograph, the last from Narcissa. She must have put in a rush order to have someone's film developed, because the photograph is of the two of us dancing at Bella's wedding. Amazingly, I don't look like an idiot in it – the dancing part looks good, I'm finally as tall as Narcissa, and you can only see the spot on my forehead if you really look hard. I'm bringing it back to school and putting it on my nightstand._

_**December 27, 1976**_

_For some incomprehensible reason, Sirius called me into his room today and wanted to know if I could lift Father in and out of his chair if I ever needed to. I asked him what difference did it make, seeing as I could levitate him, but Sirius wouldn't let up so I said I thought I probably could. _

_Then Sirius wanted to know if I knew what all of Mum's medications are. Honestly, except for Mum and the healers in the psychiatric unit, does __anyone__ know what all of Mum's medications are? Sirius had at least six of them written down and said he was pinning the list to his wall if I ever needed to see it. What __is__ this? What on earth is he up to?_

_**December 29, 1976**_

_Running away from home. That's what he's up to._

_When we got up this morning we discovered that Sirius had left a note downstairs – he pinned it to the door of the elf quarters, probably with the logic that Kreacher would find it even if none of us did. He's gone for good. He didn't want to spoil anyone's Christmas, he said, but he didn't want to start the new year with us either._

_This is Mum's fault. I'm sorry, but it is. She didn't have to keep pushing him all the time – he wasn't even seventeen and it wasn't as though he had some mudblood girl. Oh, God, I'm already writing about him as if he's dead. If she'd just left him alone, he could have fallen in love with a pureblood girl and got married and this wouldn't be happening. So maybe he was never going to understand the importance of pure ancestry. Fine. Everyone knows that most purebloods fall for other purebloods because of the inherent similarities, so who's to say that Sirius was never going to marry a pureblood? Of course he told Father and Mum he never wants children. When he was nine he said he never wanted to cut his hair._

_To hell with Charis Rosier – I should have asked Cissa if she knew someone Sirius might like. Maybe he's a git and a hypocrite and the only one to not be Sorted into Slytherin, but he's my __brother__. This is why family is so important. If you lose your family, you haven't got anything._

_**December 30, 1976**_

_Right after I wrote yesterday, I went up to Sirius's room and started looking for Andromeda's address. I figured that seeing as he's kept up with her for years, he probably has it memorized, but she must have written it down once and Sirius never throws anything out. It was on a slip of paper between two of the books he'd left behind._

_I think I've realized something about myself – when there's something I badly, badly want, any cowardice or hesitation that I have goes right out the window. I ended up on the Knight Bus to Oxford and made it by around two o'clock. Andromeda's living in a flat above some shop or another – not in the wizarding district._

_You'll never believe who answered the door. The little girl. This little toddler with black hair and sticky fingers opened the door and looked up at me with this absolutely gigantic smile on her face and said "Hi!" and then smiled some more. I tried to smile back but I almost started crying._

_Andromeda was coming after the little girl – Nymphadora – and she was just starting to say something about "you never open that door" when she realized I was there. That was when I really did start crying._

_I always liked Andromeda when we were younger – not as much as Narcissa, of course, but we got along. When I was about Nymphadora's age we used to play a game where Andromeda was a dragon who wanted to eat Sirius and me and we had to defeat her. She always made these dramatic howling and hissing noises as she was "dying" and we thought it was just about the funniest thing in the whole world._

_I don't know how Andromeda understood a single word I was saying, but somehow I managed to tell her that Sirius had left and Bella was away and I never knew when I'll see Narcissa and Father is probably dying and I can't be the one and only last of the Blacks because I've never kissed a girl and I'm fifteen bloody years old. I sounded tremendously intelligent, I'm sure. The whole time Nymphadora was looking at me very solemnly, like she was pondering everything I said. Andromeda had me sit down on the sofa and told Nymphadora to go and get me a biscuit._

_Her hair was pink when she came back, so yes, she really is a Metamorphmagus. Andromeda was sort of gently rubbing my shoulder as I ate the biscuit – Nymphadora watched her for a second and then started rubbing my hand, which actually made me laugh. She's a sweet little girl. I suppose it's like with dogs – sometimes you can breed a purebred Labrador with a mutt and the puppy will come out more Labrador than anything else._

_Andromeda told me that sometimes it's hard to live with people when you have very different ideas from theirs, and I asked why she and Sirius had to have different ideas in the first place. Why couldn't they just change their minds and come back so we could all have our whole families again? I even started telling her about how Eileen Prince got divorced and now Uncle Cygnus is speaking to her, and Bella and Cissa's husbands get along with Severus, even – they know he's not a pureblood, but they can forgive Eileen for making a mistake. Andromeda said Severus and Nymphadora weren't mistakes and I said that wasn't what I meant – maybe something good came out of Eileen's mistake, but marrying a Muggle was still a mistake. If Andromeda would – _

_That was when she stopped me for a second and put Nymphadora down for a nap._

_When she came back Andromeda said she didn't believe marrying Ted had been a mistake. She said she loves him very much and she can't think for more than a few seconds about losing him because she'll start crying. Then she actually did start crying and had to wipe her eyes. She said that Ted is a wonderful husband and a wonderful father and every day she thanks God for giving her Ted and Nymphadora. She thanks God for all of __us__, even, because no matter what we're still her family. If we ever change our minds about her marriage and her daughter, she would love to be part of our lives again. She said I might not believe her, but she knew at least a little of how I felt because she used to feel the same way about keeping the family pureblooded. That was before she spent a summer working at Flourish and Blotts and met Ted and fell in love with him._

"_Why did you have to fall in love with him?" I said. I was still crying. "Why couldn't you have just ignored him and fallen in love with a pureblood – "_

"_Because that's not how it works, sweetheart," said Andromeda. "You don't get to choose who you fall in love with. It just happens and then you have to decide whether it's worth it to be together."_

_I wanted to shout, "So he's worth it and we're not?" but I didn't. I told her thank you for the biscuit and thank you for listening to me – that I loved her and Nymphadora was an adorable little girl. All of that was true. Telling her the rest of the truth wasn't going to get anywhere._

_I didn't want to get back on the Knight Bus right away, so I started walking around Oxford. It was starting to snow and suddenly it struck me how magnificent some of the buildings were. It isn't that there's no inherent worth in Muggles. They have their talents and abilities, and I think pureblood wizards could even get along with some of them. But they are not wizards and they're not intended to be part of our families. There are basic superiorities and inferiorities that no one can erase, no matter how much they want to._

_I still thought Andromeda could have avoided falling in love with Ted if she had really tried. People can control their emotions – they can calm down when they're angry or find something to be happy about when they're sad. I could have let myself fall in love with Selene Harris, I thought to myself, but I knew what she was and I didn't encourage her. Even Muggles can control their emotions. We're not animals, we're human beings. When you know something is morally wrong – _

_All of a sudden I stopped. _

_Sirius isn't the hypocrite, I am. I'm in love with Narcissa and I know there is not a single damn thing I can do about it – if Lucius died tomorrow, I would run to her and beg her to be my wife. I want her to be my wife and to be everything that means – oh, God, I want to make love to her and sleep next to her and watch her bear our children. I want Cissa to have been right when she said my wife would be a more beautiful bride. I want her to be my bride and be to be more radiantly happy with me than she is with Lucius. I want to marry my married cousin. I am miserable and I am wretched, but I love her and I don't know how to stop._


	57. Chapter 57

_Sirius,_

_I was here towards end of February. Don't blame Kreacher; I waited until he left to buy groceries and then got inside the house._

_Lucius killed Regulus. I know how and I know why, but I need one more piece of evidence before I can prove it to you. I've taken the rest of Regulus's diary for leverage, but I left this much so you could see that no matter what else he believed, he never blamed you for leaving home._

_It's possible I won't be able to track down my last piece of evidence. Without it, I won't be able to prove Lucius's guilt – or my innocence – but I'll still be able to give you proof that Regulus is dead. I would give you the proof now if I were in a position to give things freely, but I'm not. I'm sorry. After all that's happened, I can't trust that you'll want to help me._

_Get me a full criminal trial and I'll give you the proof that Regulus is dead. I've been following the Malfoy investigation and I don't think the Aurors will find enough for an indictment, much less a conviction. I'm not asking for a pardon from the Ministry; all I want is a real trial with my own attorney and a chance to present evidence and call witnesses. From what I know of Brutus Swift, I think he ought to be able to do that for me. You'll hear from me again when I see it in the Prophet that Swift's moved to give me a full trial. You may not hear from me until a week or so after the article runs, because sometimes I can only get the Prophet out of a rubbish bin._

_I'm glad you've had a chance to go back to teaching. Take good care of yourself, Sirius._

_Remus_


	58. Chapter 58

"This is so _stupid_," Nymphadora muttered, flopping down on Harry's extra bed. Whether subconsciously or on purpose, her hair had turned from pink to black. "Regulus is my cousin, Remus went to Azkaban partly for betraying your parents, we're the ones who found the bloody diary in the first place, and they're having a big secret meeting without us?"

A clap of thunder sounded outside; Hedwig, perched inside her cage, flapped her wings in alarm. Looking out the window, Harry could see that the rain was beginning to flood the streets.

"Besides," Nymphadora added, rolling onto her back, "I _knew_ Remus when I was a kid – we used to go to Sirius and Remus's place for dinner every other week before we went into hiding. I'll never forget what it was like after we came out. We waited a whole month after You-Know-Who disappeared – it was almost December, Mum and Dad made me put on scarves and mittens and all that – and I just wanted to go home and have everything back to normal, you know? I mean, I was eight. I didn't get that we weren't just going to go home and have everything be the same again. I was all excited because I wanted to see Gran and Grandad and Auntie Liz – Dad's side, obviously – and Sirius and Remus and Charis and Edgar's new baby, and then Sirius was there the second we came out the door. You know what the first thing he said was? Before 'hello' or anything like that? He looked at Mum and he said, 'Lily and James are dead, Remus is in Azkaban, no one will let me have Harry, and Charis and Edgar's entire family have been dead since September.'"

Lightning illuminated the street; it was only three o'clock in the afternoon, but the sky was growing darker by the second. For a moment, Harry wondered whether the basement would flood. "Their entire _family_ was dead?" he asked, forcing himself to sit down. Perhaps if he stopped pacing about the room, he thought, his stomach would feel better. "Even the baby?"

"Yeah, even the baby." Nymphadora examined one magenta fingernail; Harry had the impression she didn't know where else to look. "They had three kids, Charis and Edgar – Ambrose is the one she's pregnant with in Regulus's diary. Then they had Felicity before they even finished school, and Charis was pregnant with Rosamund the last time we saw them. Charis ended up being like Mum, she broke with the whole Slytherin crowd. The Boneses were purebloods, but they never went in for thinking they were superior. Evan Rosier's dead too – he went the full-blown Death Eater route. Mad-Eye Moody and two other Aurors ended up killing him as he tried to escape through his dining room."

For the first time, Harry fully realized what it meant to be the boy who lived. Somehow, it had never really sunk in that the Death Eaters had murdered other children – that he was the boy who lived because other boys had died. "What about Snape?" he demanded, standing up again. It was impossible to sit calmly when he knew Sirius, Andromeda and Ted were upstairs deciding what to do about Lupin's letter. "He was a Death Eater with Rosier and the rest of them, right? Why didn't the Aurors kill _him_? Why does he get to teach at Hogwarts instead of being locked up in Azkaban having to remember every bad thing in his life – "

Nymphadora snorted. "He turned spy in the last few months of the war and the Ministry gave him immunity."

"They what?"

"They told him if he'd give up the goods on the rest of the Death Eaters, he wouldn't have to go to prison." Hedwig had been looking curiously at the bag of owl treats Harry had set next to her cage; Nymphadora stood up, went to the wardrobe, and gave her one. "It's a good thing you asked me and not Sirius, Sirius'll rant for hours about it if you get him going. He doesn't think Snape ever had any real change of heart – he reckons he realized which way the wind was blowing and decided to save his own skin."

"Yeah," Harry said bitterly, "no kidding. That's why Snape hangs round the Malfoys and treats everyone like crap, because he's finally found the good in himself. How could Dumbledore even fall for that?"

"I've got no idea. Don't get Sirius started on that one either."

Another clap of thunder erupted, this one so loud that it sounded as though someone was shooting a canon from across the street.

"What was Lupin like, anyway?" Harry asked Nymphadora. He had heard Black's descriptions of him several times, but he realized now that he'd never had the chance to ask anyone else. "Back when you knew him."

To his amazement, Nymphadora grinned. "Remus was great," she said, sitting up and crossing her legs. "He really was – if Mum and Dad were planning to go out either Friday or Saturday, and they found out Sirius was at the school overnight on Friday and Remus was there overnight on Saturday, they'd go out Friday so Remus could look after me. Once you got to know him he could be really funny. Gran gave me this book of Muggle fairytales one Christmas and I brought it over to Sirius and Remus's place – Sirius was correcting essays, so Remus said he'd read it to me. I'm sitting next to him and he opens the book, and the first story is _Little Red Riding Hood_. Right away – I mean, the second he turned to that page – he looks over at Sirius and says, 'Sirius, a piece of enemy propaganda has infiltrated this house.'"

"_What_?"

"You know – because of the Big Bad Wolf. So Sirius gets this shocked look on his face – I mean, not really shocked, sort of melodramatic – and says, 'Be strong, Remus. Do your best.' I didn't know what they were talking about, so I was whining, 'Remus! Read my book!' Remus looks down at the page and says, 'This is the story of Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Snake.'"

Maybe it was the barely contained laughter in Nymphadora's voice, or perhaps Harry was so anxious that he needed to find something funny; either way, he realized he was smiling in spite of himself. "He knew how to deal with Sirius, too," Nymphadora continued, watching the lightning outside. "You know how sometimes Sirius'll really get in a mood about something – "

"Be quiet a second," Harry said suddenly. "I think I can hear them upstairs."

For a moment, the only sound was the rain outside; Harry stood on top of his bed, trying to put his ear as close as possible to the ceiling. Given that the rafters were still more than a foot above his head, he wasn't sure it was doing him much good. " – almost has to know where the body is," he thought he could hear Andromeda saying. "I don't know how else he'd be able to prove that Regulus is dead – "

"I bet the Malfoys put Regulus somewhere really creepy," Nymphadora whispered. She was standing on the other bed, barely managing to balance on her toes. "I really do, I bet they shoved his body in a corner and built a wall in front of it or something."

Harry looked at her. "Can't you do something with the Metamorphmagus thing? Make your legs really long so you can get closer, or something like that?"

Nymphadora shook her head. "It would probably rip up these jeans."

" – need to think of what the stress of a trial would do to Harry – "

"Why don't we actually _ask Harry_ what the stress of a trial would do to him?" Harry muttered to himself. "What, I'm so delicate and fragile I can't take people talking about how my parents died, or something? What about what the stress of _not_ having a trial's doing to Lupin?"

"Don't worry about it," Nymphadora said, sitting down again. "That's just Mum – even if he's convinced Remus did it, there's no way Sirius is going to pass on the chance to get in contact with him."

Harry opened his mouth to tell her about Swift's theory, but then stopped himself. Black would tell Nymphadora if he wanted her to know. He wondered if Black was still planning to take him to church the next day.

"I want to know what's so great about Narcissa that everyone wants to make excuses for her," said Nymphadora, leaning against the headboard. "Mum thinks she's completely oblivious to the fact that her husband's an evil git, Regulus fell in love with her even though she was his cousin – I don't think she's that extraordinarily beautiful, either. I mean, she's beautiful, but it's not like she's perfect. Her mouth is sort of funny-looking."

"You've met her?" Harry asked, surprised.

"No, but I've seen her. I've seen her with Lucius, too, and I'll say this: either their marriage has got loads better since Regulus wrote his diary, they're both really good actors, or Regulus never stood a chance."

There were footsteps on the stairs; Harry sat down immediately, trying not to look nervous. A moment later, Black opened the door.

"Tomorrow is Palm Sunday," he said, coming in and leaning against the wall. Ted and Andromeda were behind him, still in the corridor; Andromeda's face had gone very white. "Next Sunday is Easter Sunday, and the Sunday after that, we're going back to Hogwarts. I'm going to have Brutus move for an appeal on that last Saturday. This is our first holiday together, and I'd like to spend it without being annoyed by the press; if Remus has been waiting since the end of February, I don't think it'll hurt him to wait another two weeks. I don't intend to tell anything to Kreacher until just before Brutus files the motion, either. He'll never believe Lucius killed Regulus and he can be dangerous if he gets angry enough. Once we get back to school, I want you to concentrate on your exams – I don't think I'll need to be in court until after the term ends." He took a deep breath. " I imagine the veracity of this diary is going to be a contentious issue in the case against Lucius, and depending on the Ministry's prosecutorial strategy, it might come into Remus's trial as well. Harry, I think before all this is over you and Nymphadora will probably have give statements about finding the diary, at the very least."

"Why the very least?" asked Nymphadora. "What's the very most?"

"At the most, you'll have to appear in court and testify about it."

Harry glanced at Nymphadora. "Fine," he said, trying to ignore the way his heart was pounding hard against his chest. "I don't care. No matter what happens – at least by the end we'll know, right?"

"That's right," Black replied quietly. "At least by the end, we'll know."


	59. Chapter 59

_Palm Sunday._

"Yes, your mum used to think your dad was a git," Black said, glancing over his shoulder as he changed lanes. "I wouldn't read too much into it if I were you – it was just the classic situation with girls maturing faster than boys. He thought he was hilarious and she thought he was obnoxious. He thought they ought to go on a date and she thought he should flush his head down the toilet. If this car doesn't make it to Canterbury by eleven o'clock, it's going to come home much smaller and without a fender."

Ted's 1967 Volkswagen Beetle was a wheezing little car with a dented steering wheel, two floor mats missing, and a front window that refused to roll down. "We could always park it somewhere and take the Knight Bus," Harry suggested, grimacing as the car bounced over a pothole. "It would be a lot faster – "

"The Knight Bus is for people who can afford to be late," Black replied. "I haven't been late to Mass since 1984 and I'm not going to start now – besides, we'll attract attention if we don't get there on time."

"Forget the Knight Bus, then," said Harry at once. It was enough to be going to church for the first time he could remember. He didn't need the entire congregation staring at him too.

Until a few weeks ago, Harry had never given much thought to church, except to note that other people went there and the Dursleys didn't. When he had thought about it, he'd considered himself lucky to have escaped; Piers Polkiss had to go to church with his parents every Sunday wearing a tie and pressed trousers, and if Aunt Petunia hated how Harry looked on normal days, she would surely loathe having to make him look presentable in a suit once a week. "What religion am I supposed to be, anyway?" he asked Black, checking both cuffs to make sure they were buttoned. "If my dad was WCG and my mum was Church of England and you're Catholic – "

"You know, your parents and I never had that discussion." There was some sort of spattered insect on the windshield; Black turned on the wipers and pushed it off. "If you'd rather go to WCG with the Tonkses on Friday – "

"No, I'll go with you." A bright yellow convertible drove past them, heading in the other direction. "What's the difference between WCG and the rest of them?"

"At first there were just the Catholics in England," said Black, pushing a stray piece of hair away from his face. Ted, who had a barbershop in Diagon Alley, had cut several inches off Black's hair the night before, leaving him with a ponytail that ended just above his shoulder blades. "For Christian religions, I mean. Then Henry VIII threw a fit because the Catholic Church wouldn't let him get rid of his wife and marry a new one, so he formed the Church of England. The Wizarding Church of God branched from the Church of England, which is why my family never joined it – we weren't about to change religions just because some Muggle king couldn't get an annulment." He thought for a moment and added, "Also, Communion is a sacrament in the Catholic Church and you haven't made it, so don't go up for it when everyone else does. Catholics believe that during Communion we literally eat the body and blood of Christ."

Harry wasn't sure he'd heard right – he _couldn't_ have heard right. "You eat – _literally_? A _body_?"

"Don't worry," Black replied, changing lanes again. From the last several road signs, it looked as though they would be on time at St. Dymphna's. "It still looks like bread and wine. Remus used to say that I ate more human flesh in a month than he'd eaten in his entire life."

"What religion was he?" Harry asked.

Black drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Remus was an agnostic. No belief one way or the other."

"What are the Malfoys?"

"Death Eaters."

It took Black a while to find a place to park the car, but when they got out it was two minutes to eleven. "We've got to go inside the cathedral to get to St. Dymphna's," Black said, walking quickly as Harry followed him. "It's the floor stones to the right of the tomb of the Black Prince – no relation to me or Snape. Sit when everyone sits, stand when everyone stands, kneel when everyone kneels, and don't go up for communion."

Harry had never been to Canterbury Cathedral before; he would have liked to spend more time looking around, but it was difficult enough to cut through the crowds. It seemed a service had just concluded. The cathedral was filled with Muggles, most of them holding palm fronds. "This way," Black said, nearly running into a man in a brown jumper. "Right over there – the metal figure lying on the floor."

Harry just barely had time to look at the Black Prince before Black pulled him to the side. "Here," he said, gesturing with his foot. "Step on this with your right foot, this with your left foot, and bring your left foot to join your right. Go ahead. I'll be just after you."

Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped on the stones.

A split second later, he was standing in an empty stone vestibule, its walls lined with torches. Suddenly Black was beside him. "I think they've just started," he said, going for a large wooden door. "Come on. No one's going to be looking at us."

And indeed, no one did.

The sanctuary of St. Dymphna's was packed full of people; Harry didn't think he'd ever seen so many kinds of magical beings in one room. Just past the door was a pew full of house-elves, all of them dressed in crisp white pillowcases. Two dappled centaurs stood at the back of the far aisle. There were several ghosts, most of them sitting together in clusters of three or four, and the empty spot that Black found for them was next to a family of goblins, including three goblin children who kept poking each other with their palm fronds. As organ music echoed through the chamber, the entire assembly stood and began to sing a song from their blue hymnals. Harry swallowed.

"Don't worry," Black said in his ear. "I never sing either."

The priest was coming down the center aisle, a skinny bald man with a thick brown mustache. As Harry's eyes followed, he spotted Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore, Nearly Headless Nick's old rival, holding his head in both hands and scratching his nose. Sir Patrick noticed him and winked.

The first part of the Mass was hard for Harry to understand; there were a lot of responses from the congregation, none of which he knew. He did know a few of the people in attendance: Tom from the Leaky Cauldron was sitting near the front, far to the left of Madam Pomfrey and just behind Roger Davies from the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff was sitting across the aisle and two rows ahead of Harry, not far from Florean Fortescue, the ice cream parlor owner who had helped Harry with his witch-burning essay over the summer.

As everyone sat down in the pews, a tall boy with wavy hair caught Harry's eye. Cedric Diggory was in the fourth row.

"In a way, today's passage is a startling piece of Scripture," the priest began, standing behind the pulpit. It took a moment for Harry to place his accent as German. "Jesus Christ rides through the streets of Jerusalem, greeted and welcomed by the people. They lay down their cloaks and palm branches in the road, celebrating His arrival. This is the height of Christ's popularity during his human life. The crowds love Him." The priest paused. "And yet five days later, these same people are calling for His death by crucifixion.

"Pontius Pilate gives them a chance to spare His life, and they don't take it! They choose to save Barabbas instead – Barabbas, the notorious rebel. How could Jesus Christ be so welcomed by the people of Jerusalem, and yet these same people refuse to spare His life less than a week later? I think the answer lies in two places. First, people can be cowardly – and I don't just mean human people, I mean all of us. Second, sometimes people support the right thing for the wrong reasons."

What about the opposite? Harry wondered. Did people sometimes support the wrong thing for the right reasons?

He couldn't say he liked the teenage Regulus who had written the diary – they probably would have despised each other if they'd ever met – but at the same time, Harry felt sorry for him. He could even understand Regulus in a way – he knew what it was like to feel lonely, to want a happy family. Had Regulus truly wanted to kill Muggles and Muggle-borns? Or had he just never seen them as equals? It was hard to imagine Regulus wanting Nymphadora to die – or Selene Harris, the beautiful Muggle-born girl in his house.

From what Harry could tell, Regulus had truly longed for two things at the age of fifteen: to have his family reunited, and to be with Narcissa Malfoy. _I don't even care if Narcissa is in the Dark Lord's service,_ he had written, _because I know how passionate she is about family. _Was that what Regulus had sought in the Death Eaters? A way to have his family reunited?

"I didn't know you were Catholic."

Harry looked up. The service had ended; Sirius was a few rows ahead of him, talking with Madam Pomfrey, and Cedric Diggory was standing in the aisle. "I'm not," he said, silently vowing not to look like an idiot. "Sirius is, though – Professor Black. He's my godfather."

"Really?" Diggory sat down in the pew in front of Harry, looking over the back. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah. He's – I'm living with him now."

"In Canterbury?"

"No, London."

"Oh." Diggory swallowed, running his fingers through his hair; for the first time, Harry wondered if Diggory was as nervous around him as he was around Diggory, though he didn't know why he would be. Diggory was older, taller, a prefect and Quidditch captain, not to mention better-looking. "We're not from around here either – we're about a mile outside Ottery St. Catchpole in Devon. Near the Weasleys," he added, noticing the look of recognition on Harry's face. "They're on the other side of the village, though."

A slender, long-legged woman came over to the pews; Harry had never seen her before, but he would have recognized her anywhere as Diggory's mother. "You're Harry Potter?" she asked him. Harry nodded. "I'm Meredith Diggory, it's nice to meet you. Come on, Cedric, we've got to get home and get lunch started."

"See you at school," Diggory said. His cheeks were flushing pink.

Sirius was coming down the aisle on the other side of the pew, looking considerably more relaxed than he had before church. "Ready to go home?" he asked Harry, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. "Had enough cannibals for one day?"

"Who did Regulus talk to?" Harry asked suddenly. Sirius looked surprised. "He had to have had some friends besides Narcissa, right? Are his friends all dead?"

"I have no idea," Sirius replied, leaning back against the pew. "After I left home, I more or less lost track of what he was doing."

"Somebody's got to know," Harry said. His mind was running over Regulus's diary, trying to remember if Regulus had mentioned anyone in particular. "He worked for Horace Slughorn, right? Do you think he would have told him anything?"

Sirius took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "As far as I know, the only one he confided in was his diary," he said. "And if he left any other papers behind, they're probably in his room."


	60. Chapter 60

As the week went on, the house seemed less dark, the rooms began to feel familiar, and life at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place started to fall into a routine.

Harry slept in until at least ten o'clock every morning, waking up after Ted had left for the barbershop and Nymphadora had gone to her Auror training classes. After breakfast, he and Sirius worked on cleaning Regulus's room, which had yet to turn up anything but old clothes, books, and dust. Andromeda liked to make lunch; the three of them would eat together in the kitchen, carefully censoring their conversations in case Kreacher was listening from the elf quarters, and after the dishes were washed Andromeda would get back to work.

"What's your mum _making_, anyway?" Harry asked Nymphadora one night as they sat in the sitting room looking at her drawings. Aside from being an Auror, Nymphadora wanted to make films as a hobby and had filled several notebooks with sketches of monsters. "It smells sort of like moldy cheese…"

"Oh, it's a potion for restoring eyesight, or something like that – I forget what, Mum's always trying to invent some potion." Nymphadora turned the page to a drawing of a headless man with eyes on his feet. "Then it goes wrong and whichever group gave her the research grant gets all shirty and they get into a big argument about what her contract said…don't ask her too much about it, she's sort of in a slump. The last time she invented something was waterproof floo powder when I was sixteen. She gets really frustrated, you know – all those hours and it still comes out wrong…"

Sirius made Harry study for at least two hours every afternoon, after which he quizzed him on what he'd been reading. Though it annoyed Harry at first – after all, he thought, he'd made it through two and a half years of Hogwarts without being made to answer study questions every day – he decided to use it to his advantage and ask Sirius every Potions question he'd ever had. Nothing, Harry reasoned, would irritate Snape more than being forced to give him high marks on the Potions exam.

"You know, your mother was remarkably good at Potions," Sirius said, lying back on Harry's extra bed and kicking off his shoes. Nymphadora, back from class, was playing Monopoly with Andromeda in the sitting room. "Your dad was good at it too, of course, but he didn't have the same flair for it that she did. Transfiguration was more his area."

"What did they do for work?" Harry asked. "Nobody's ever told me."

"Nothing that earned a salary. James had a significant inheritance – you know that, you've seen it – and he and Lily decided to devote themselves full-time to the war effort."

"But you didn't," said Harry. "You were teaching with Lupin in Berlin."

"I couldn't afford not to work. My Uncle Alphard left me some money when he died – I was seventeen – but that all went into the cottage, the school, and Remus's medical bills."

"Were Lupin's parents already dead, then? Why did you have to pay his medical bills?"

"I didn't have to. I volunteered." Sirius flipped to the next page in Harry's Potions book. "All right, if you're making a Cough-Suppressant Solution and you've stirred in the powdered ash root…"

Nymphadora came home every day at around two o'clock, followed by Ted at six. Both of them usually had stories to tell at supper; if you wanted to know what was going on in the wizarding world, Harry thought, it seemed you could do worse than hanging around Auror headquarters and Ted's barbershop. Nymphadora even heard things about people Harry knew at school.

"Percy Weasley's applied for the Department of International Magical Cooperation," Nymphadora told him on Wednesday night as she passed the potatoes to Andromeda. "Tell him to get out of it while he still can – everyone at the Ministry knows that Barty Crouch treats his staff like house-elves. The word from Magical Games and Sports is that your mate Wood's got offers from the Tutshill Tornados, the Ballycastle Bats and Puddlemere United."

Harry had never wondered what Wood would be doing once he finished school, but Nymphadora's news didn't surprise him; it was hard to imagine Wood working at any job that didn't involve Quidditch. Somehow, winning the Quidditch Cup seemed even more important now.

Ted's competition had retired two years ago, making him the only wizarding barber in England, and it seemed every wizard Harry knew had come to him for a haircut at one point or another. "Except for Dumbledore," Ted said, winking at Harry from across the table. "Don't reckon he's going to come in any time soon. I had Cornelius Fudge in last week, though – it wouldn't surprise me if he didn't run for another term as Minister. Poor man looks as though he hasn't slept in weeks."

"The entire situation with Remus is wearing on him," Sirius replied, leaning back in his chair. "It's bad enough that the first Azkaban breakout in history happened during Fudge's administration. The longer Remus is in hiding, the worse Fudge looks."

"But Fudge didn't _do_ anything," said Harry. "I mean, the dementors were in charge of keeping Lupin in prison and the Aurors are in charge of finding him – it's not like Fudge can just go off and hunt him down."

Sirius leaned forward again and poured himself a glass of water. "He's always felt a lot of pressure. Everyone knows he only got the job because Dumbledore wouldn't take it – Fudge thinks he's got to be the best Minister there's ever been if he's going to get any respect. By the way, speaking of Dumbledore…"

Sirius had said he would never forgive Dumbledore for leaving Harry with the Dursleys, and it seemed he was keeping his word. "Dumbledore found out I took you to church," he said to Harry on Thursday morning, waving a piece of parchment as he came down the stairs to the kitchen. "Very concerned that you were out in public. You know, I appreciate that he cares about you, but that man has absolutely no sense of where his authority begins and ends."

Andromeda put down her grapefruit spoon and cleared her throat. "Sirius, I'm not sure it's the best idea to criticize Harry's headmaster in front of him."

Sirius sat down and took a roll from the basket in the middle of the table. "Don't you start too. Am I letting Harry run loose in Knockturn Alley? Did I let him travel from Hogwarts to London on his own? Is it Albus Dumbledore's business even if I did? If he wants to object to someone's parenting, I suggest he start with the Malfoys – but no, that's too dangerous. I was a headmaster. I may not have been a headmaster for over twenty years and I may not be regarded as the brilliant protector of the wizarding world, but I at least understood that once the students went home, they were out of my control. But then, Dumbledore doesn't think of this as Harry's home, does he? He may think of me as Harry's godfather, but it's astoundingly clear that he doesn't really give a damn when it comes down to it. I am Harry's legal guardian, and while I may not have custody – "

"Well, don't tell _us_," Andromeda said. reaching for another grapefruit. "Tell Dumbledore."

"Oh, I probably will," Sirius replied darkly. "But it'll have to be after the school year ends – I promised Neville Longbottom I'd get him through the Potions exam and I'd rather not risk being sacked."

They sat quietly for several seconds, the only sound coming from Andromeda's spoon digging into the grapefruit. "Are we going to church tomorrow?" Harry asked at last.

"Of course we're going to church tomorrow."

Kreacher, as it turned out, was going to church as well. Sirius found him in the kitchen at around ten o'clock at night, eating raw eggs out of the icebox.

"Master would deny Kreacher food, poor Kreacher who has loyally served the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black – "

"I really don't care what you eat," Sirius replied, barely looking up as Andromeda and Nymphadora came down the stairs in their dressing gowns. Ted was right behind them. "I care that you make dramatic declarations about not leaving the elf quarters until the Tonkses are gone and then sneak out at night to steal food. None of the food in this kitchen is yours, because I didn't buy you any food this week. I was given to understand that you would be holed up in your mildew greenhouse eating dry bread."

Kreacher began to sob, but Harry didn't feel sorry for him in the least. After years of living with Dudley, he'd become rather good at recognizing when someone was making themselves cry on purpose. "You can have money to buy groceries tomorrow," Sirius said, not bothering to raise his voice over Kreacher's wailing. "You can go out and get them yourself, because I'm not buying them for you. When you get back, you're going to go with Harry and me to Mass at St. Dymphna's, because I'm not sure I trust you alone in this house."

"Kreacher would never harm his mistress's house – "

"I'm sure you wouldn't," Sirius replied crisply. "I don't believe you'd have any qualms about harming mine. Now go back to the elf quarters and stay there until I say you can come out."

"Don't you think you're being a little hard on him? " Nymphadora whispered as they all headed up the stairs to bed. "If he got hungry – "

"If he got hungry, he could have come out of the elf quarters and asked to have something to eat." They had reached the first floor; Sirius leaned over and ruffled her hair. "Good night, Phado or Ympha or whoever you are."

"_Sirius_…"

"Have a good sleep in the lilac bush."

Upstairs on the second floor, Sirius found a tape measure and had Harry stand straight against the wall. "Five feet and four and a half inches," he said, looking at the tape where it hit the floor." Another half an inch and you'll be as tall as your mother was. After Easter we're buying new clothes and having your eyes and teeth checked."

Harry took a deep breath; there was something he wanted to ask Sirius, but he wasn't sure how to ask it. "Sirius?"

"What?"

"Why do you – I mean, I get why you're angry at Dumbledore – but – why do you act like you hate him so much?"

Sirius sighed and sat down against the wall, suddenly looking tired. "I don't hate him," he said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes for a moment. "Here, sit down."

Harry sat next to him. Outside, the sky had finally cleared, and starlight was shining in through the window.

"I don't hate him," Sirius said again, turning to look at Harry. There was something very solemn in his eyes. "I don't hate Dumbledore at all. I'm angry with him and I'm frustrated with him because I feel that he's trying to undermine my role in your life, and I care about you more than anyone else on this earth."

For a moment, Harry felt as though he'd suddenly lost the ability to speak. No one – not Ron, or Hermione, or Hagrid or Dumbledore – had ever said anything like that to him before.

"I think I loved you since the moment your parents told me they were having a baby." Sirius's voice had grown very soft, but Harry could still hear every word. "You were a new part of our family. And then the first time I saw you – I don't think I can explain it, but the first time I saw you, I knew I would die for you without a second thought. I loved you and James and Lily and Remus and Peter so much.

"And I loved watching you grow. I loved seeing you learn to roll over and sit up and start crawling around – you were so fast that I used to tell your dad you'd be a Seeker someday, but I didn't care what you were. I knew I was always going to love you no matter what."

"No – " Harry's voice had somehow turned hoarse. "No matter what?"

"No matter what." Sirius looked into Harry's eyes. "Always. And I'm not going to let anyone take you out of my life again – we're going to rebuild our family whether Remus is with us or not, although I hope to God he is. We're going to be a family and no one is going to take us from each other no matter what."


	61. Chapter 61

_The Wednesday after Easter._

"Wizards are damn near impossible to track down," Swift said, picking up a tapestry needle and weaving a loose thread back into the chair cushion. From the battered desk to the faded sofa, Harry couldn't see a single piece of furniture that look younger than twenty years old. "Trust me, I have a client who's been chasing after her ex-husband for seven years. The amount of alimony he owes her is astronomical. I don't know why the Aurors were expecting to find Remus soon after he escaped – I could have told them otherwise, if they'd bothered to ask me. The mere fact that he can apparate makes it difficult. Add a lifelong history of deception and you've got the perfect escaped prisoner. Be careful near that lamp, I just bought it for Portia's desk last week."

Harry turned to see a stained-glass lamp on the table behind him; between the golden finish and the tiny pieces of rose and purple glass, he was sure it must have cost Swift a good bit of money. "Why'd you buy a lamp for Portia's desk?" he asked. "Why didn't you get new furniture instead?"

"Because," said Swift, setting down the needle again, "wretched furniture gives off the impression of genteel poverty and makes clients more amenable to paying high hourly rates. I've had much fewer arguments about payment since I took the leather sofa home."

Harry looked at him incredulously. "Slytherin," Swift said, raising his eyebrows. "I wasn't Sorted there because Gryffindor was full, you know."

Sirius smiled to himself, but Harry didn't understand it. Although he more than appreciated all the things Swift had done for them, he didn't know why Sirius would have picked a Slytherin lawyer in the first place. "If you're a Slytherin, why're you helping us? Why be on our side?"

There were several scratches on the sofa legs; Swift went to his desk and got out a small can of wood varnish. "Whose side would you expect me to be on?"

"The Malfoys'," said Harry. He wasn't sure if Swift really didn't know or if he was asking the question to make a point, but he suspected it was the latter. "They're Slytherins like you, and Sirius is a blood traitor who used to run a school for werewolves. Why'd you take him as a client?"

Swift picked up the can and knelt down next to the sofa. "Because," he said, taking out a paintbrush from the pocket of his robe, "he needed an attorney, and he struck me as more pleasant than most of my clients. The Malfoys are criminal scum and anyone who's not in their pocket knows it. Even if Sirius hadn't been my client before this whole Malfoy business started, I wouldn't have gone with their side. I care a lot more about what people do than about what some hat said dozens of years ago."

"But you're supposed to be ambitious – "

"I _am_ ambitious. I didn't become the best wizarding lawyer by sitting around watching the clock tick. And right now my ambition is to save Buckbeak from the axe, save Remus from the dementors, and save these sofa legs from people wearing pointy-toed shoes. I finally had a letter from the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures this morning. The appeal's scheduled for the sixth of June at Hogwarts, starting at seven in the evening and finishing whenever it gets finished."

Sirius had been sitting calmly in Swift's shabby brown armchair, looking faintly amused at the conversation; at the words "the sixth of June," he sat up straight. "That's the final day of exams. Is there any way they could – "

"This was the earliest date and time we could get," replied Swift, firmly putting the lid back on the varnish can. "We've got the research on our side and we've got the witnesses. The best thing to do is to get it over with – Hagrid's probably been having nightmares for weeks."

With the appeal date now so close, Harry felt a sense of inevitable dread settle over him. "What if we lose?" he asked, looking at Sirius. Sirius exhaled slowly. "We can't just let Buckbeak – "

"If we lose, someone's going to have to set Buckbeak free," Sirius said. There was something evasive about his voice; though he was looking in Harry's direction, he wasn't meeting his eye. "Maybe someone invisible. Someone who's had years of practice being invisible and who has experience with illegal modes of transportation. The kind with two wheels."

Harry swallowed and glanced at Swift. Swift's gaze drifted towards the ceiling. "D'you think maybe that someone," Harry began cautiously, "might need to borrow something from someone else? If he wants to be invisible?"

"That someone will think about the logistics later." Sirius turned to Swift. "About filing for Remus's appeal on Saturday – "

Swift had the answer ready before Sirius had finished his question. "Bad idea," he replied, getting to his feet and sitting down on the sofa. His face looked especially pink. "I can see why Remus wants you to do it, but he's not your lawyer and he doesn't understand how the wizarding justice system works."

Sirius snorted. "Of course he doesn't. He only had it explained to him for about a minute before they threw him in Azkaban."

"He can't have an appeal until he surrenders himself," Swift continued, "and he's not going to want to surrender himself until he's found whatever that final piece of evidence is. He'll turn up once he's got it."

As confident as Swift sounded, Sirius wasn't convinced. "Turn up _where_, exactly?" he demanded, leaning forward in his chair. "He's a convicted felon who thinks he doesn't have a friend left in the world. For all he knows, I'd kill him if I ever saw him again. If we're not filing an appeal, we need some other way to let him know he's not alone in all this."

"How do you propose we do that?"

"I'm not proposing anything," Sirius replied irritably. "I'm turning it over to you because you're my attorney and you can find some way to sort it out."

"We know he's reading the _Daily Prophet_," Harry said. "He's following the Malfoy investigation and he's looking for any sign that Swi – that Brutus is getting him an appeal. We could figure out how to do something through that, couldn't we? People send letters to the _Prophet_ and get them published – "

Swift lay back on the sofa and swung his feet up onto the armrest. "That would be a good idea, if Sirius weren't the veteran of a decade-long war with the press. On good days they cordially detest each other."

Harry turned to look at Sirius. "Starting a school for werewolves makes a good article," Sirius said. "So does being tried for being a Death Eater, and so does having a brother who might have been murdered by your cousin. I must've turned down a dozen interview requests since Regulus's button was found in the woods. The _Daily Prophet_ does a fair job of reporting the more ordinary news, but when it comes to personal tragedy they're like vultures. They've only left you alone because you're underage."

"Sirius drives them batty," added Swift. "Not only does he refuse to be interviewed, but no one who knows him ever gives up the goods."

"That's because I don't tell them any goods to give up."

"So – wait a minute," Harry said. "You don't want to talk to them because you hate them, or they wouldn't publish something you said because they hate you? Because I think helping Lupin's loads more important than not giving the _Daily Prophet_ what they want you to give them."

Sirius and Swift exchanged looks. "If it's absolutely necessary, I'll do it for Remus," Sirius said. "I just want to know that it's absolutely necessary before I do it. Whatever happens, I'm not consenting to a full interview. They can have a letter and consider themselves lucky."

"We'll have to work on it," replied Swift. "Speaking of working on things, how are the errands going?"

For someone who was supposed to be staying safely indoors, Harry had been all over London during the last few days. He and Sirius had gone to a dentist, where Harry had to have a tiny cavity filled; to an eye doctor, who said Harry's prescription had changed; and to three different department stores, where Sirius wouldn't buy Harry the expensive trainers the sales clerks kept showing him. Sirius might have been willing to spend over twenty thousand Galleons on Firebolts for Gryffindor, but he refused to pay a lot of money for shoes he said Harry would outgrow in a year.

"I think we've finally finished," Sirius told Swift. "We had to replace most of Harry's Muggle clothes. The one thing we've still got to do is pick up his new glasses tomorrow." He looked at Harry and smiled. "No more Sellotape."

"Nymphadora says she wants my old glasses when I get the new ones," said Harry. "She wants to take the lenses out and use them for a costume."

After half a year of false starts, Nymphadora had come up with a script for her first film, a horror picture about a monster with blank white eyes and long, wrinkled fingers. The monster lived in an abandoned mansion and strangled unsuspecting travelers who tried to stay the night, stealing locks of their hair to add to its gruesome collection. Ted had offered to supply the hair and Sirius had agreed to let Nymphadora shoot the film in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, on the condition that she stay out of the rooms he and Harry were living in. Andromeda, on the other hand, thought the entire idea was a waste of time and would distract Nymphadora from passing her Stealth and Tracking test.

Andromeda had a new project of her own; to Harry's amazement, she was trying to recreate Neville's failed Shrinking Solution, theorizing that it was either a hallucinogen or some other sort of mental potion. Harry hoped she would find a use for it, preferably before the Potions exam in June. He knew it would boost Neville's confidence enormously to know that one of his dozens of Potions mistakes had actually been a discovery.

"I'm supposed to tell you that Portia's volunteering to be in Nymphadora's film," Swift said, adjusting the needlepoint pillow under his head. "I, however, am not. I'm not going to give Timarchus Hagen the satisfaction of being able to watch me being strangled. I think I'm going to give myself the satisfaction of an afternoon nap, though. Turn off the lights as you leave, will you?"

"All right," Sirius said, standing up. "Come on, Harry."

"I'm not sure if I'll see you again before you play against Slytherin," Swift said to Harry as Harry was heading to the door. "Do your best to beat Draco Malfoy."

Sirius switched off the light. "You mean decimate, Brutus. They'll be defeated, be destroyed, their hopes will all expire. A Nimbus broom is just a broom – "

Harry grinned in the darkness. "A Firebolt is fire."


	62. Chapter 62

_Back at school._

"I want this match to be over with as soon as possible," Wood said, sitting on top of one of the common room tables and resting his feet on a chair. "Let's not give them a chance to score points if we can help it. We're going to forget defense and go straight for offense in this one, so Fred, George, that means you focus on hitting the Slytherins with the Bludgers, not keeping the Bludgers off our team. Everybody's improved a lot in reflex drills. I need you to be even more alert than usual, because Fred and George aren't necessarily going to have your back, okay?"

Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell exchanged wary looks. "What if there's a Bludger coming right at us?" Alicia asked. "Are they supposed to just ignore that if they don't think they can whack it at a Slytherin?"

"Nobody's ignoring anything – we're just putting the focus on offense." Wood turned to Fred and George. "And we can't focus on offense if we're out of the match, so make sure nobody's taken out. Harry, don't pay too much attention to what Malfoy's doing unless you can see both him and the Snitch. My guess is he's going to waste a lot of time feinting to try to throw you off. Try to forget it's Malfoy, all right? Don't let too much personal feeling in. Just think of him as the Slytherin Seeker."

"Yeah," Harry retorted, "the Slytherin Seeker whose parents might've killed my godfather's brother…"

Somehow, word had got around Hogwarts very fast that Professor Black was Harry Potter's godfather and Harry was going to be living with him from now on. In one way, Harry was glad Sirius was planning to leave Hogwarts once the school year ended; he wasn't keen on the thought of spending the next four years working especially hard to prove that any good marks he got weren't because his godfather was a professor. "You should _always_ work especially hard," Hermione told him reprovingly in the library after dinner. With less than a week left until the Quidditch final, Harry couldn't spend more than a minute in the common room without someone wanting to give him advice on the match. "You're here to learn how to do magic, not how to play Quidditch."

"Hermione, what d'you think Quidditch _is_?" Ron asked incredulously, erasing a mistake on his Astronomy chart. "Besides, let's face it, flying fast on a broom's going to be loads more helpful than reading ancient runes once we're out of school. Unless somebody digs up a carved rock, what're you ever going to need ancient runes for?"

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione said casually, pulling a scroll of parchment out of her bag. "Maybe just – " She paused, unfurled the scroll, and began to read. "'Twenty-seven December, nineteen-seventy-five. Mum told Sirius that if he hates our family so much, he ought to move out and – '"

Harry stood up so he could lean over and see the parchment. "You've got Regulus's diary written out in _ancient runes_?"

"It's working really well," Hermione replied, rolling up the parchment again and returning it to her bag. "This way I can read it whenever I want and anyone who sees it'll just think it's homework. Professor Black was really nice about it, he let me sit in his office and copy out the diary while you two were in Divination. He said I helped him using one book and we'll see if I've got any ideas about this one."

"Yeah," Ron muttered to Harry as Hermione went to get more parchment for her essay. "Black really hates her so much…"

Hermione did have some ideas about Regulus's diary, but they weren't about Regulus. "I still can't believe Snape's a half-blood," Ron said during their Care of Magical Creatures lesson on Wednesday. They were sitting outside Hagrid's hut, overseeing flobberworms sleeping in a box; several feet away, Lavender, Parvati and Neville were watching Seamus and Dean compete over who could stack the tallest worm tower. It looked as though Dean was in the lead. "Who wants to hang around a bunch of people who think you've got dirty blood? What was Snape doing joining the Death Eaters?"

"Ron, _he_ thinks he's got dirty blood!" Hermione exclaimed, loudly enough that Fang, dozing on the steps, opened one eye before closing it again. "Think about it – Snape could've grown up around all the rich purebloods if his father hadn't been a Muggle. His mum taught all three of the Black girls, his grandfather had some sort of important business – it doesn't sound as though they were fantastically wealthy, but they were part of that society. Then Snape's mum married a Muggle and he had to be a Snape instead of a Prince – "

"Wonder why he didn't go through with changing it," Harry said, watching the Whomping Willow shake off some of its last dead leaves. A crooked row of tulips was growing outside Hagrid's window. "That'd be the Death Eater thing to do, wouldn't it? Don't like your Muggle dad, get rid of his name – "

"They must just find a way to ignore when someone's not a pureblood, if they really want him on their side," said Hermione. "Malfoy was even willing to do it with you – remember before the Sorting when he wanted to shake your hand?"

"That's right!" Ron said, sitting up. "Imagine if you'd done it – that would've been a great day for the Malfoys, dear old Draco bringing Harry Potter over to the dark side."

"They couldn't have brought me over to the dark side," said Harry. "They probably would've just found some way to finish me off with an exploding potion or drown me in the lake."

Quidditch practice was scheduled for every evening until the match; Wood and Flint had flipped a Sickle to determine when each team would have the pitch, and Gryffindor had ended up with two hours just after dinner. The weather was mild enough now that some of the non-players in the house started doing their homework in the stands so they could see how practice was going. One of them was Percy, who spent each break in the practice nagging Wood about studying for N.E.W.T.s until Fred and George, out of Wood's hearing, finally made a rude suggestion about what Percy could do with himself.

No longer hidden by Cedric Diggory, the team's Firebolts were being guarded around the clock in the common room, with Nearly Headless Nick taking the night shift. Colin Creevey volunteered for the hour after classes finished; in his spare time, he was trying to work out how to rig his camera so it would automatically photograph any Slytherin intruders. "Do you think any of the Slytherins will actually try to break in?" Harry asked Wood as Lee Jordan climbed through the portrait hole to relieve Colin of his watch. "That'd be really stupid, even for them – "

"Probably they won't," Wood said, sitting down in an armchair and opening his Transfiguration book. "But I'm not going to risk it. Besides, this is building house spirit."

In Potions, Snape had finally allowed the Gryffindors and Slytherins to sit at different tables again; Harry got the impression Snape expected him to do something nasty to Malfoy during class and send him to the hospital wing. "You know, this isn't really hard," Neville said happily, stirring his potion counterclockwise. "It's sort of like cooking, isn't it? Gran always says I'm a good cook. Professor Black's been really helpful, too. You're really going to live with him?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, glancing at the blackboard for the next direction. As he turned back to his cauldron, he caught a glimpse of Pansy Parkinson's smirking face.

"If you win the Quidditch Cup, just enjoy it while it lasts," Pansy told him on their way out of class. "Flint'll be gone next year. Once we get a new captain, there's no telling what might happen."

"Yeah," said Ron. "No telling if you'll get even worse and be the biggest failures in the history of Hogwarts Quidditch…"

"There's no telling who'll _stay on the team_." Pansy looked Harry in the eye for a split second. "Have fun playing with Draco."

"Blimey," Ron said as Pansy walked away. "You don't suppose _she_ wants to be Seeker, do you?"

"I can't see any reason to rule it out," replied Hermione, watching as Pansy turned the corner and disappeared from their sight. "One of the Parkinsons was Slytherin Seeker before Regulus got the spot. Maybe it runs in the family."

"There's an idea for one of Nymphadora's horror films," Ron said to Harry. "Generation after generation of hideous pug-faces diving after little golden balls…"

Sirius was making Harry a potion for a dreamless sleep; with two nights left until the Quidditch final, Harry didn't want to find himself having nightmares about dementors or losing to Slytherin by three hundred points. "I heard from Moody today," Sirius said, handing Harry a steaming mug. "He's found indications that Remus has been everywhere from Canada to Tokyo over the last several months. It doesn't seem he's been to Berlin, though, which is about what I expected. Looking for allies would be too much of a risk."

Sirius's potion was the color of a melted blue ice lolly and tasted like prawns. "D'you think he's tracking down his last piece of evidence?" Harry asked. "If it could be anywhere from Canada to Tokyo, he might never find it – "

"There's something else." Sirius leaned back against his desk. "Moody thinks – and this is just his opinion – that Remus hasn't been abroad for the last ten weeks or so. The Aurors are scouring every forest in Britain during each full moon. Lately they've been finding werewolf hairs in places more than fifty miles away from any address listed on the Werewolf Registry."

"So he could be closing in."

"He could be closing in." Sirius took the empty mug from Harry and set it down behind him. "I don't want you to worry, all right? No matter what side he's on, I don't think he's coming for you. Remember, he broke into our house. If Remus really wanted to harm you, I think he would have done something much more sinister than leave Regulus's diary."

"I'm not worried," Harry said, but a heady shot of anticipation was running through him. If Lupin was closing in, it was only a matter of time before they would have the answers they'd been looking for.


	63. Chapter 63

**Malfoy Investigation Ends**

_**Family fined 10,000 Galleons for illegal objects, charged with obstruction**_

_The inquiry into Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy's possible involvement in the disappearance of Regulus Black ended late Friday night as Aurors left the Malfoy residence, without many of the answers they'd hoped to find._

"_After an extensive search, we've concluded that there is not enough evidence to charge Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy with murder," said Kingsley Shacklebolt of the Auror Office, who was assigned to head the investigation in early February. "At the same time, it would be inaccurate to say that they're no longer of any interest to us in this matter. They have not been forthcoming and they have not been entirely honest. There is irrefutable evidence that they knew information about Mr. Black beyond what was known to the Auror Office, and we find that unacceptable." Shacklebolt went on to say that the couple are each being charged with three counts of obstruction of justice, as well as being fined a total of ten thousand Galleons for the possession of illegal magical objects. If convicted, both Malfoys could be sentenced to as much as three months in Azkaban._

_Regulus Black, who is Narcissa Malfoy's first cousin, went missing in the autumn of 1981. The second son and youngest child of Orion and Walburga Black, he was employed as a research assistant by the eminent potions expert Horace Slughorn and was rumored to be a follower of the dark wizard He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The recent inquiry into his disappearance was prompted by the discovery of an embossed button belonging to him in the forest surrounding the Malfoys' property._

_Though Shacklebolt declined to comment as to the grounds behind the obstruction charges, rumors circulate that one or more charge may stem from the discovery of Black's will in the Malfoy house. If correct, Black's will is a heretofore unknown element of a case that sat dormant for most of the last decade._

"_I don't blame anyone for [the case's inactivity]," said Professor Sirius Black, Regulus Black's older brother, commenting publically for the first time about his brother's disappearance. "When you're out of leads, you're out of leads. I don't know if Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy killed Regulus, but I would urge anyone who knows anything about what may have happened to him to get in touch with my attorney, Brutus Swift. Twelve years are a long time. We need to answer the question of where Regulus is so he can finally rest in peace." Professor Black had no comment as to the possibility of his brother having an existing will, but did mention that he had not been in contact with Regulus for a number of years prior to 1981._

_Though Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy refused to respond to _Daily Prophet_ reporters, they issued a statement through their attorney, Timarchus Hagen, just before this edition went to print. "Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy ask that their privacy not be disturbed at this very difficult time," Hagen said. "They are surprised at the charges against them and would like this matter to be settled in a Ministerial court of law, not the court of public opinion."_


	64. Chapter 64

Because of the Quidditch final, lunch was being held early at eleven o'clock and lasting for only half an hour; if Harry wanted to speak to Sirius in private, he had just a few minutes. The office door was open. "What's happening?" Harry asked, grabbing the back of one armchair as he caught his breath. He had run all the way from Gryffindor Tower. "What are the three counts for? Did they find a will?"

Sirius was sitting on his desk, darning the holes in his moth-eaten Gryffindor scarf. "Sit down and rest a minute," he said, gesturing to the armchair. "You don't have to be on time for lunch, you know – "

"Yeah, I do," Harry said, but he sat down anyway. "Wood's not giving us an extra minute to eat, he wants us in the changing rooms right away. What's going on?"

Sirius set down the scarf. "I'm not sure if they've found a will," he said, reaching for a small blue bottle next to him on the desk. Harry recognized it as the one Hermione had found in Sirius's drawer on Christmas night. "_They_ don't know if they've found a will – what they've got is a sealed envelope reading 'Estate of Regulus Black.' Someone from the Auror Office is going to bring it here on Monday. If it is a will and if Regulus didn't name an executor, I'm executor by default because I'm his next of kin."

"But they don't know for a fact that he's dead, do they?" Harry asked. Sirius uncorked the bottle and drank the entire contents in one swallow. "They don't have a body or anything – "

Sirius took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "They don't, but they think they have enough evidence to declare him dead. There hasn't been anything to show otherwise in twelve and a half years."

Harry knew that Sirius hadn't gotten along with Regulus, or even spoken to him for years before Regulus had vanished, but it was still clear that the news was affecting him. "I'm sorry, Sirius," he said quietly.

"It's like this when people die." Sirius picked up the scarf again. "You know they're dead, but every time something reminds you it's like a little part of them just died again. It's the end of the hope that – " Suddenly, he stopped, his mouth settling in a stiff line. "Draco, if you have something to say, come in and say it."

Harry jerked his head around to see Malfoy standing near the door, a look of rage on his face. He was already in his Quidditch robes. "You think you're so clever," he spat out, looking at Sirius. It was almost as though he hadn't noticed that Harry was in the room. "You think this is going to throw the match, but it's not. My parents aren't afraid of you or your little pet Aurors – "

"If you're accusing me of something, Draco – "

"I don't have to accuse you," Malfoy snapped. "It's obvious to anyone who isn't a blithering idiot. You and that mutant freak of Andromeda's got the Aurors to hold off on charging my parents until the day before the Qudditch final because you think it's going to throw me off balance and let your beloved Potter catch the Snitch."

Harry almost laughed; he didn't know which was more far-fetched, Sirius plotting to sabotage Malfoy or the Auror Office agreeing to help him. "You've got to be joking," he said, tilting his head back to look directly at Malfoy. "Is that the best you've got? That's pretty weak even for _you_, Malfoy – "

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "You're going to talk about weak, Potter? You'd be dead if you didn't have Dumbledore watching your back every second – "

"He doesn't watch me every second, but yeah, I'd be dead without Dumbledore," Harry said. Having got nowhere with insulting lies, it seemed Malfoy was trying to make insults out of the truth.. "That's because I'm a third-year and he's the greatest wizard who ever lived. What's your point?"

"That's enough," Sirius said, sliding off his desk. "Go to lunch, Draco. We'll be behind you."

With a final glare, Malfoy turned and marched off down the corridor. "Sorry," Harry said to Sirius.

"Just save it for the Quidditch pitch," Sirius replied, reaching for the key to lock his office.

Harry finished his lunch within half an hour, but he was still the last one to arrive in the changing rooms. To his surprise, the lights were dimmed and the entire team, as well as Percy, were sitting in a semi-circle on the floor with their eyes closed.

"What're we – "

"We're clearing our minds and focusing our energies," Wood said, not opening his eyes. "Percy says this works when you really need to concentrate."

"George says Percy is a big-headed windbag," Fred said, elbowing his twin in the ribs.

"That's Head Boy Windbag to you," Percy retorted; Harry didn't know if he was attempting to be funny or if he meant it. Knowing Percy, it was probably the latter. "Speaking of which, everyone make sure you're breathing deeply."

Harry quickly changed into his Quidditch robes and sat at the end of the semi-circle next to Alicia. He wasn't particularly in the mood to clear his mind and focus his energy, but it was better than listening to one of Wood's frenzied pep talks. Outside, he could hear chattering and the sound of dozens of footsteps. The stands were starting to fill up.

"Chasers, think about how you're going to work together," Wood said. "Beaters, remember you're forgetting defense and going for offense. Try to take out Malfoy as a first priority and Flint as a second. Harry, try to end this thing as soon as possible. We're the best team in the school and today's the day everyone sees it. Everybody cleared and focused? Okay. Let's give them hell."

Walking out onto the pitch, Harry saw that about two-thirds of the school were wearing red and gold; Ravenclaw, it seemed, had split its loyalties. In the back of the stands, Dean, Seamus and Neville were holding up a banner that read "ROARING TO WIN" in block letters. Hearing someone call his name, Harry looked again; Ron and Hermione were sitting a few rows down from the banner, waving at him. Ron pointed at Malfoy, closed his eyes, and drew one finger across his throat.

From his place at the commentator's table, Lee Jordan was ready. "Here it is, folks – it's down to the wire and teeth on edge as the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams meet at the center. This is the last match for Captains Wood and Flint, two battle-hardened players thirsty to drink from the Cup – "

"I don't want to see any shenanigans or dirty tricks," Madam Hooch told both teams sternly. "Ready and on your brooms?"

"Wood and Flint are shaking hands, the Snitch is in the air – "

"All right, three, two – one – "

The Snitch had flown straight down to the Slytherin end of the pitch and Harry bolted after it, hoping against hope that he could catch it before either team could so much as score ten points. The Slytherin Beaters, however, had other plans.

"Bell passes to Johnson, Bole and Derrick send both Bludgers straight at Potter, Potter swerves from one and dives to escape the other, he dives again but – no, he hasn't got the Snitch. Flint intercepts as Johnson passes back to Bell, he's passing to Pucey, George Weasley smacks a Bludger at Pucey's head, Pucey drops the Quaffle – it's caught by Spinnet – Spinnet goes straight for the goal – Bletchley's waiting – Spinnet makes a sharp turn to the left, throws – IT'S THROUGH THE HOOP AND GRYFFINDOR SCORES THE FIRST GOAL, IT'S TEN TO NOTHING GRYFFINDOR – "

Malfoy may have missed weeks of practice, but the Slytherin Chasers clearly hadn't; it seemed to Harry that they were working much more as a unit than ever before. Within ten minutes, Slytherin had scored two goals, putting it ten points ahead of Gryffindor. The Snitch was still out of sight.

Harry knew he wasn't supposed to pay too much attention to Malfoy, but as he swooped down near the middle of the pitch he snuck a look. Malfoy was vertically weaving in and out of the action – which, Harry had to admit, wasn't a bad strategy. Still, he wasn't about to follow it himself…

"It's tied at twenty to twenty, Montague's in possession, he passes to Flint, Flint's going straight for Gryffindor's center hoop – it's intercepted by Wood – Fred Weasley's managed to corner both Bludgers, he hits one straight at Malfoy – the other _again_ at Malfoy – Malfoy's flying fast down the pitch, Derrick hits one Bludger at Bell, Malfoy zooms in front of the Gryffindor hoops, the Bludger – "

Harry saw it coming, but he was too far away to do anything about it. As Wood lunged to intercept the Quaffle, the Bludger hit him squarely in the foot.

"Madam Hooch whistles for a time-out – "

By the time Harry flew down to the bottom of the pitch, Madam Pomfrey had already reached Wood. "It's fine," Wood insisted, but he was clearly gasping for breath. "It isn't broken or anything – "

Several feet away, the Slytherins were sitting on their brooms, clearly very satisfied with themselves. Malfoy noticed Harry looking and smirked. Just as Harry was turning away, he saw it: the Snitch was hovering near the bottom of Slytherin's right hoop.

"It's okay, I swear – "

"She's not buying it, Oliver," George told Wood, looking grim. "You're bleeding through your shoe."

"Wood, you're sidelined for at least a few minutes while Madam Pomfrey looks at this," Madam Hooch said, taking his broom from him. "If she gets you back in playing form, I'll call another time-out and you'll be on the pitch again. Come on."

With Wood out of commission, Harry knew he was the last person who should be taking over command of the team; he was the youngest and the newest player, and he'd never so much as led a practice. He glanced at the hoops again. The Snitch was still there.

"Everybody listen a second," he whispered through his teeth; to his relief, Fred and George looked at him immediately and moved closer. "The Snitch is on their end of the pitch and it's not moving. Keep them on our end as much as you can – don't worry if they score a couple of goals. If I don't have the Snitch in two minutes, forget everything I just said and go back to playing like normal. Okay?" The Chasers exchanged looks. "Angelina? Katie?"

"We're in," Alicia said, pushing her sweaty fringe off her forehead. "Two minutes, though – not a second over."

"Right, not a second over," Harry agreed. "Come on, the Slytherins are ready to start again."

"The teams meet at the center, Madam Hooch blows the whistle – and they're off again, Gryffindor missing its Keeper – Johnson's got the Quaffle, passes to Bell, Bell passes to Spinnet, Spinnet passes to Johnson – Pucey intercepts, shoots and scores – "

Harry flew to the Slytherin end of the pitch almost casually; if he wanted the Snitch, Bletchley had to think that he was still looking for it. From the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy swoop beneath Flint and fly onto the Slytherin end of the pitch.

Bletchley was at the left hoop, intent on what was happening on the Gryffindor end. Flint had just scored yet another goal. Malfoy was gaining on Harry; knowing he might never get this good of a chance, Harry flew right at the Snitch.

"Potter darts toward the right, Malfoy's following, Potter – POTTER COMES TO A COMPLETE STOP MID-AIR, CATCHES THE SNITCH JUST OUTSIDE SLYTHERIN'S RIGHT HOOP, MALFOY CRASHES INTO HIM, THEY'RE SPIRALLING TOWARD THE GROUND BUT POTTER'S STILL GOT THAT SNITCH – GRYFFINDOR WINS THE HOUSE CUP – "

Harry landed on his right leg, barely feeling the sting as a rock on the ground ripped through his robes and into his skin. Malfoy fell nearly on top of him. "Get off me, Potter," he gasped, but Harry didn't care.

Wood was limping down the pitch, shouting along with everyone in the stands; Bletchley landed and tried to help Malfoy stand up, but Malfoy swatted his hand away. Bletchley looked offended. "Wood reaches Potter, he's hoisting him onto his shoulders – watch your foot, Oliver – the Weasley twins pull Potter off Wood's shoulders and onto theirs, Potter's saying something to Spinnet – "

"You're welcome," Alicia told Harry, grinning at him.

Ron and Hermione had climbed out of the stands and were running toward Harry; Neville was with them, the banner he carried billowing behind him like a cape. "You're the man, mate!" Ron shouted at Harry. "Here, let me hold your Firebolt – "

"Wood's the man," Harry said, shaking his head. "Hey, Fred and George, put me down, will you?"

"Come here, Oliver," Fred said as Ron helped Harry down. "No, you're not getting away – get him, George."

Sirius was in the front of the stands next to McGonagall and Dumbledore; he was shouting something to Harry, but Harry couldn't make out what it was. "The Quidditch Cup," Hermione said as Fred and George slung a protesting Wood onto their backs. "He's telling you Madam Hooch is waiting with the Cup – "

Katie ran over to get it, Alicia and Angelina right on her heels. Now that he had helped to win it, the Quidditch Cup almost looked even bigger and more gleaming to Harry. "Give it to Wood," someone called; Wood took it and held it up over his head. Most of Gryffindor House had swarmed the pitch, including Percy, who was demanding that Fred and George put down Wood before they broke their backs. Lavender came up to Harry, a frightened-looking golden kitten in her arms. "This is Snitch," she told him as the kitten burrowed its head into the crook of her elbow. "Mum brought him over this morning – I said I'd name him Snitch if we won the Cup – "

"Someone else take this," Wood said; he was starting to look exhausted. Katie took the Quidditch Cup from him and handed it to Angelina. "I'm hitting the showers, see you all back at the common room."

"Oh, come on," George said, but Wood had already broken out of the crowd. The Slytherin team had retreated to their changing rooms; Harry suspected they planned to stay there until the Gryffindors were gone.

"That was brilliant," Ron told Harry. He was grinning so widely that his freckles were pushed halfway to his ears. "I'm not sure what was better, when you caught the Snitch or when Malfoy ran into you – because Malfoy ran into somebody, I mean, not because he ran into _you_ – "

"Harry, your leg's bleeding," said Hermione. "Where's Madam Pomfrey? Does anyone know – "

"She went back to the castle," someone said; Harry couldn't see who. The cut on his leg was starting to clot. "Here, go in the showers and wash it," said Hermione, reaching into her bag. "I've got a bandage here someplace – "

"Yeah, go wash it so she'll get off your case," Ron said. Hermione looked indignant. "The rumor says there's butterbeer back in the tower."

Harry managed to push through the crowd and walk toward the changing room; though the cut on his leg had bled profusely, it didn't seem to be very deep. All he could think of was water; he wanted to drench himself in the shower and then find something to drink. Behind him, half the Gryffindors were vying for a turn holding Cup. Harry looked back, grinned, and opened the door.

Oliver Wood was sitting on a bench, his injured foot propped up next to him; Percy was kneeling in front of Wood, one slender hand running through Wood's hair. They were kissing.


	65. Chapter 65

_Monday morning at breakfast._

"Oliver Wood, reserve Keeper for Puddlemere United," Wood said, waving a piece of parchment in Percy's face. "Minimum salary of forty Galleons a week, to be negotiated later on number of matches played." He was grinning. "Want to know how many N.E.W.T.s I needed for this, Perce?"

"That's not the point," Percy protested, but Harry thought he didn't sound nearly as snappish as he would have with anyone else. "You can't play Quidditch forever. At some point you're going to be too old for it and you're going to need academic qualifications – "

"Like hell I will," Wood said, his look of joy undeterred. "By that point you'll be Minister of Magic and you'll give me all the money I need, won't you?"

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione asked, setting down her spoon. "You look like you've got a fever or a sunburn or something – "

"I'm fine," Harry muttered. As much as he wanted to forget that he'd seen Percy and Wood kiss, he couldn't help but blush every time he saw them together.

Since discovering he was a wizard, Harry had seen portraits that moved, a flying motorbike, and a teacher with Voldemort in the back of his head, all of which made infinitely more sense to him than the sight of Oliver Wood kissing Percy Weasley. The scene kept coming back to his mind, unbidden. At least they hadn't noticed him, he thought; if Percy and Wood knew that he'd seen them, he thought he'd probably die from the embarrassment, which annoyed him. It wasn't as though _he_ was the one who'd been kissing another boy in the Quidditch changing rooms…

Harry supposed he could have asked Hermione if it made any sense to her – Hermione tended to be able to explain just about anything – but he didn't want to talk about it, and besides, he liked Wood too much to be telling people secrets about his personal life. Harry might not have understood why Wood would want to kiss Percy – actually, he didn't understand why _anybody_ would want to kiss Percy, now that he thought about it – but whether Harry understood it or not, it wasn't any of his business. Besides, if Harry told Hermione, he would feel guilty about keeping it from Ron; if Ron found out, Harry knew Ron wouldn't be able to stop himself from telling Fred and George. And if Fred and George had gotten all of Gryffindor teasing Hermione about Astrophil's letter, Harry didn't want to think about what they'd do with the knowledge that their obnoxious older brother was secretly kissing a boy.

"Black's not here," Ron said, scanning the Head Table. "Today's the day he finds out what that envelope in the Malfoys' house said, isn't it? How great would it be if it turned out to have all the evidence the Ministry would need to put Malfoy's parents away for life?"

"It won't," Hermione said. "The Malfoys wouldn't let something like that sit around in their house for over a decade."

"Well, they let _something_ about Regulus sit in their house for over a decade," Ron argued. "What d'you suppose that's about? Unless it's a will that leaves everything to them, you'd think the Malfoys would want to distance themselves from anything even remotely connected with Regulus – you don't suppose Malfoy's parents are on different sides of this, do you? Maybe Malfoy's dad killed Regulus but Malfoy's mum didn't want him to – "

"I doubt it," said Hermione. "Harry said Nymphadora said that it looks like they're still mad about each other, didn't he? Narcissa's not going to still be in love with Lucius if she didn't want him to kill Regulus – "

"I – I don't know," Harry said. Something had just connected in his mind. "Regulus's diary said that Narcissa never really had any friends, didn't it? If you're used to not having any friends, it really means a lot when you get one, and Regulus was just about her only friend for a while. If somebody kills your only friend, you can't just decide to forget about it and move on, I don't think. Maybe…maybe she doesn't even know. Maybe Lucius lied to her and she believed him, or maybe she just doesn't let herself think about it…"

Harry didn't get a chance to see Sirius alone until after dinner, though he did see him in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, where they had just started studying dark creatures, their last unit of the year. Sirius was keeping a sickly green creature called a grindylow in a tank; grindylows lived in water, had small horns, and had been known to strangle and drown humans, which meant that the class was learning how to break the grindylow's fingers. Unfortunately, not only did the grindylow seem remarkably able to reset its bones, but it had somehow learned to make obscene hand gestures, which sent Seamus and Dean into gales of laughter every time they came near it.

In his office, Sirius was sitting in one of his red armchairs, his head leaning back and his long legs sprawled out in front of him. To Harry's surprise, he was laughing.

"What – "

"I've really got to hand it to Regulus," Sirius said, taking out an envelope from inside his robes. "I don't know what he felt or what he was thinking near the end of his life, but this must be giving Lucius and Narcissa fits. They never would have kept this if they'd known what was in it."

"Does it have any evidence against them? Does it – "

"No, no evidence against them, but it's one big slap in the face to the notion that the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was always pure." Sirius held out the envelope to Harry. "Go ahead and read it."

Harry lifted the flap, took out a yellowed piece of parchment, and read it silently, his eyes widening as he went.

_Last Will and Testament of Regulus Arcturus Black_

_Written and signed on 15 August, 1980_

_I, Regulus Arcturus Black, son of Walburga and the late Orion Black, leave all of my worldly goods, property and money, with the exception of five hundred Galleons, to my fiancée and former co-worker, Selene Emma Harris. Should Selene Emma Harris pre-decease me, I leave her bequest to her heirs. I would like to explicitly state that under no circumstances do I want any of my estate to come to any member of my family, with a single exception. _

_I leave the five hundred Galleons exempted from Selene's inheritance to Nymphadora Tonks, the daughter of my first cousin, Andromeda Black Tonks. Nymphadora Tonks is the only member of my family whom I wish to receive any portion of my estate and is the single exception mentioned in the previous paragraph of his document. Thank you for the biscuit, and thank you for rubbing my hand._

_Regulus Arcturus Black_

* * *

[Note to readers: I'd like to thank all of you for sticking with this fic through all its twists, turns, and lengths between updates. I started it as a freshman in college and since then I've graduated with a double major, finished law school, had to study for the bar exam twice, and gotten married. When I'm not updating, I'm always working on this fic when I have the time; I can be a perfectionist and sometimes it takes forever for a chapter to turn out the way I need it to. Thanks for your patience, everybody. You don't ever need to worry that I'm going to abandon this fic unfinished, no matter how long it takes until the next chapter to be posted.]


	66. Chapter 66

Harry read through the will twice; the budget for Nymphadora's horror film, he thought, had just greatly expanded. But that wasn't the main thing on his mind. "This isn't just funny, though," he said, handing the parchment back. "This could be _it_, Sirius. This is somebody important to Regulus who we didn't even know about; we've got to find her and find out what she – "

Sirius shook his head. "The Aurors have to find her and find out what she knows. I have to write exams and you have to study for them." Noticing Harry's incredulous look, he continued, "You've been incredibly helpful, but right now you need to have different priorites. No more investigating until after school ends."

Harry couldn't believe it. Just when they'd learned something that might bring them so close – "We just found out Regulus had a fiancée – a Muggle-born fiancée – "

"Half-blood fiancée," Sirius said.

"Whatever – and you're telling me to forget about it for now and go _study_?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you," said Sirius, rising from his seat. "It's my job to take care of you, not to recruit you to help solve my problems."

"They're my problems too," Harry said, feeling heat and anger rise in his face. He couldn't see how Sirius didn't understand that – couldn't see how, if Harry was the most important person to Sirius, Sirius would think that his own life had nothing to do with Harry. "Regulus probably got killed by the Malfoys, and even if they're not my relatives, I've had to deal with them trying to get me in trouble and expelled and _dead_. What about Lupin? He was convicted partly for betraying _my _parents, remember?"

"Of course I remember."

"It was my name he was writing in blood all over his cell, and my house he left Regulus's diary in, and me who he's probably trying to protect with blood magic, so don't give me some crap about – "

Sirius's eyes flashed. "Let's get one thing straight right now," he said. Harry saw that he was gripping Regulus's will. "I am your godfather, I am in charge of your welfare, and you do not speak to me like that, do you understand?"

"What, now you're going to tell me how I'm allowed to talk?"

"That's exactly what I'm going to do. I don't have a high tolerance for rudeness with Kreacher, I don't have it with Draco, and I'm not going to have it with you."

The comparison to Kreacher and Malfoy made Harry's heart pound faster with rage. He wasn't sure which made him angrier: the fact that Sirius was keeping him from finding the truth about Regulus and Lupin, or the fact that someone who seemed to have spent his life breaking rules was demanding that he keep what surely had to be the most unfair rule in the world. "If you think I'm like _them _– " he began.

Suddenly, Sirius's grip on the will lessened. "I don't think you're like them," he said, sitting back down again. "Let's just stop for a second. We don't need to shout at each other about this."

His face still flushed and his thoughts still simmering, Harry forced himself to sit in the other red armchair.

Sirius ran his fingers back through his hair and exhaled slowly. "I'm not saying you need to be entirely out of the loop about what's going on," he said, pressing the pad of his thumb against the space betwen his eyebrows. Guiltily, Harry wondered if he had just started one of Sirius's headaches. "And I'm sorry if it sounded like I thought that none of this affects you. But you've got less than two months before school ends, Quidditch is out of the way for the year, Brutus has a good grip on Buckbeak's appeal, and I'd love to see you do wonderfully on your exams. I think that up until now you've been too distracted by other things to produce the work you're really capable of. There's no good reason why a third-year who can produce a half-formed Patronus should be getting eighty-two percent in Charms, or why anyone should have seventy-nine percent in Divination."

"That's because it's all rubbish," Harry muttered.

"I know it's all rubbish. That's why it shouldn't be difficult." Sirius caught Harry's eye. "There's no rule saying Hermione Granger is the only third-year Gryffindor allowed to have all her marks in the high nineties."

Harry relaxed; now that he'd had a minute to step back and think about it, he wouldn't have liked it either if someone had shouted at him not to give them some crap. "She thinks you don't like her, you know," he told Sirius. "Hermione."

Sirius looked confused. "She thinks what?"

"She thinks you don't like her. It's because you're the only teacher who doesn't tell her she's brilliant or clever or anything."

"So she thinks that means I don't like her?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, for God's sake." Sirius turned to put Regulus's will back on his desk. "If I don't tell Hermione that she's brilliant or clever, it's because I don't think she needs to hear that she's brilliant or clever. Your dad and I got told we were brilliant and clever all the time, and it went to our heads and we thought we could do whatever we wanted and get away with it."

"Hermione's not like that, though, I don't think," said Harry. "She always goes to sleep late because she's up going over school stuff. It's kind of like - like if somebody doesn't tell her she's brilliant and clever, maybe she's not anymore. I think that's why she's taking so many classes. She's got to be the best at everything."

"Well, believe me," Sirius said, "Hermione is always going to be vastly intelligent no matter what anyone tells her. She'll figure that out eventually."

Harry took a deep breath. "Sorry I yelled at you," he said. "I thought you were saying that everything with Regulus didn't have anything to do with me – "

"I didn't mean that at all," Sirius said. "Apology accepted." With a grim smile, he added, "Let's try not to do this again – I think we both had our fill of long family fights a long time ago."

When Harry arrived at his dormitory, he discovered that his trunk was open and the Marauder's Map was gone.


End file.
